


Shift: A Novel of the Marvel Universe

by ArkhamHouse



Category: Marvel 616, X-Men (Comicverse)
Genre: 1960s, Action/Adventure, Alternate Canon, Alternate Universe, Deviates From Canon, Drama, F/M, Family, Friendship, Gen, Romance, Sexual Content, Shapeshifting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-09
Updated: 2016-06-18
Packaged: 2018-05-12 17:39:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 85
Words: 434,997
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5674798
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ArkhamHouse/pseuds/ArkhamHouse
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In 1964, a young mutant named Maria Gianelli joins the original X-Men. This story deals with the implications of that decision, for her, her fellow X-Men, especially Jean Grey, and the wider Marvel Universe as a whole. Hopefully, fans of the mutants, and the MU, will have some surprises along the way.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. A Gathering of Forces

**Author's Note:**

> First things first--obviously, Marvel Comics holds the rights to the X-Men, and all the other people and concepts in this story. This is just a piece of fan-fiction, written for fun, and I'm not getting a penny out of it. So is that clear to everybody?  
> Having said that, we come to this story. In one form or another, it's been on my mind now for over fifty years--since the Lee/Kirby days, in fact. I finally just decided to get it all out of my system, using the subsequent history of the Marvel Universe as I have seen fit. Some details--like Hank McCoy's hometown--I have changed at my whim. Other points can be disputed, recognizing that the MU is a constantly-evolving thing, and most aspects of it are subject to change. I have used whatever interpretations of the MU that suit the convenience of my story.  
> I've tried to utilize both my memory, and some--you know--research, to get the mid-60s era of the story as accurate as possible. It should be remembered that what later came to be called the "Sixties" had barely started by 1964, and the mythology of the later part of the decade plays relatively little part in this story. (One instance, out of many: the musicians at the Coffee-a-Go-Go play jazz, not rock.) I've tried to be honest to the era of 1964-5 as it was, both in the real America, the MU, and my own memory.  
> This story was originally published at Fan Fiction in 2013, and I haven't changed it to reflect what's been happening in the "real" Marvel Universe since then. Indeed, the events in the "real" Marvel Universe have been ignored as much as possible, including the supposed elimination of the 616 Universe. I have no respect for the people running Marvel these days, have no interest in their disputes with their fellow Soulless Corporate Entities, and nothing but contempt for their actions, especially regarding the X-Men. No matter. Nothing in this romance really contradicts anything happening in the Official Universe, as anyone who wades through the whole thing will discover.  
> Since writing this story a few years ago, I've learned that Marvel has another character named "Shift". This is a coincidence, and my Shift has no connection to the other. To be honest, I like mine a whole lot better.  
> Special thanks for friendship above-and-beyond the call of duty to Iasmim Iribarrem, who read this story a chapter at a time as it was being written, and whose suggestions improved it out of recognition. Thanks, Iasmim--it's been *greatly* appreciated...  
> Hope you X-fans like it. And feedback would be greatly appreciated.

 

_  
_

 

* * *

BOOK ONE: TORCHES AND PITCHFORKS

* * *

Chapter One--A Gathering of Forces

* * *

Was she still asleep?

Jean Grey floated in a cocoon of thought that was no longer unconsciousness, but not self-aware consciousness either. She was unaware of her identity, of who and where she was...but realized at some level that this knowledge would come, that all she had to do was wait, hear her heart beat and her breath slowly unwind from her body, and everything would become clear. Also: she knew that it was now, in these moments between sleep and waking, that the moments of clarity were the strongest, that illumination was closest. And that the moment would pass, soon, very soon...so that if insight were to come it had to be now. She couldn't force things, just had to let it happen of its own accord, to bless her with its presence or not. Something about her in this state was far more real than either her "waking" or "sleeping" state, something even more real than her identity as a mutant...

"Mutant"? That was too real, too concrete. Too much of something connected to her waking identity. Sensing this, she realized that she was emerging from this state, and she felt a slight sense of disappointment that it was ending without any particular insights, those moments when everything changed and her very soul felt itself transformed. And then...

_I'm dying._

That was all she could understand in that first instant of the experience, a sense of death, of everything ending. It was like when she was with Annie Richardson when _she_ died, but this was different too, this was more all-inclusive... Jean sensed Death itself, the concept, the reality, the final goal of all life, all joys and sorrows and striving, all tears and laughter and love and birth and babies and education and work and play, all wisdom and folly, all of it, collapsing into the dark hole that was Death, the great equalizer into which everything else faded and withered. She felt a sense of overpowering sorrow, one which nothing could assuage. All the light, all the joy, all of it so precious because it was so fleeting--all nothing, just the tiniest flicker of utter meaninglessness between two eternities of blackness. It was so absolute, and so inescapable, that she felt despair cover her like a shroud.

And then--in that final millisecond before she woke completely--the black vision faded. A new thought replaced it, an image that seemed small, infinitely small, but even as she saw it in her mind it grew and filled her field of mental vision, filled the entire universe. A bird...was that what it was? Yes--now unmistakable. A giant bird that spread its "wings" across all existence. A terrible, cruel image, an image that contained evil and hatred of all that lived. And yet, that was not all it contained either. There was also compassion and love and a sense, spreading from it, that death was the ultimate absurdity, that it was nothing, almost an irrelevancy in the greater scheme of things. The despairing vision she had just a moment earlier was wiped away as if it had never been, and she _knew_ that death could not triumph in the end. The two aspects of the bird--the great evil, and the overwhelming goodness--didn't seem to contradict each other, somehow. It all seemed natural... And, in the very last instant before she awoke completely, she had a last realization- _she_ , Jean Grey, was the reason they didn't contradict. Somehow, she herself was the balancing principle, she brought everything into focus, into perspective.

_Jean._

It was the Professor's mental voice, and she suddenly was fully awake.

 _Yes, sir?_ she answered mentally.

 _You were set for a test of your telekinesis skills at eight this morning,_ he answered. _It's five past eight now._

"Oh!" she cried, jumping out of bed. "I'll be right there, Professor. My deepest apologies!"

 _That's all right,_ he answered, and she glimpsed a slight hint of bemused humor in his thoughts. _This is very rare for you, oversleeping. Unlike one or two others in this school whom I could name. Be here in five minutes, and I think we can avoid a demerit._

"Yes sir!" she cried, throwing off her pajamas and getting into her uniform. Already, the vision she had had right before waking was starting to fade. All that remained was a sense of overwhelming joy, a realization that she had had a very good dream indeed--and that somehow, there was something _real_ about it, something that affected her in a way she couldn't define. She wished she could remember...

Oh well, she mused as she rushed to the Danger Room, if she didn't think about it, maybe it would come back to her.

* * *

Maria Gianelli cocked her ears. Was she safe from them? Had she escaped? Then she heard it--a din in the background, slowly getting louder and assuming definite shape... _No._ She sighed. The Torches and Pitchforks were still closing in on her. She looked around. What were her options? Was there any way of avoiding a confrontation?

She could hear voices now, distinct voices of individual members of the mob. "Where is it? Has it gotten this far?"

"--Don't get too close to it...God knows what it can do..."

"We'd better call the National Guard. Maybe the army. They can deal with it..."

"How about the FF? Or the Avengers? Isn't dealing with it more _their_ job?"

\--This, and similar words. _It._ That was all she was to these people, an "it" without any identity of her own, without even a gender in their eyes... "It". Why did that sound familiar? She searched her memory, then it came--"It", the short story by Theodore Sturgeon. She shuddered slightly. She had read it when she was eleven, and it had given her nightmares for weeks. The story had dealt with a skeleton that had somehow acquired a "body" of swamp muck and forest detritus, and animated itself. Walking the forest, it had a sharp intelligence and an intense curiosity-curious enough to wonder what happened when you tore apart dogs--and human beings...

That gave Maria an inspiration. Well-where was she, anyway? In a clearing. In a forest. If these people wanted an "It", who was she to disoblige them? It wouldn't be very difficult, after all. She peered from behind the hollow stump she was hiding behind. The crowd--actually carrying rifles and shotguns, though there was a torch or two among them--numbered about thirty men. It was dusk, and warm--they were dressed in short-sleeved shirts for the most part. And they were frightened. More so, in fact, than she was. She knew they couldn't really injure her. Or so she hoped. But her real emotion was weariness, and frustration. She was tired--tired of running, of the reactions that she always got whenever she showed herself. Tired of knowing that it would never change, that it would _always_ be this way. And tired of trying to hang onto her humanity despite all this--and she laughed inside, as she always did when she used the word "humanity". To describe herself, certainly. But also to describe the mob chasing her. If they were what was passing for "human" these days...

Enough. She shut her eyes, and concentrated. Thought of the "It" of the story. Thought of her body as a walking mass of swamp muck, thought of herself as acquiring a skin of bark and moss and leaves, with a circulation system of mud and brackish water...thought of herself as a walking mound of forest flotsam and jetsam...

She opened her eyes, and looked down. The feeling was unfamiliar, as all new states were to her the first time she experienced them. She tried to move, and it was even more difficult than it usually was on the first try. She imagined what she looked like, and laughed to herself. She knew her "real" form made Boris Karloff look like Tony Curtis. But _this_ one! Even by her standards, this was gross. Well, it'd only be a few minutes, after all...long enough for a little fun.

She stepped out behind the stump as the men approached. "Boo!" she cried, hands up by her ears, wiggling away. There was a group scream from the men, and a number of the rifles fired their bullets at her. She moved back behind the stump, some of the bullets passing through her It-like substance harmlessly. All she felt was a sort of pressure, like when a muscle used to clench when she had a "human" body. But it certainly didn't hurt. She couldn't remember what physical pain felt like--she hadn't experienced it in many years. But she had no particular desire to remain as a target for the guns. If enough of them fired enough bullets, she couldn't be certain that it would have no lasting effects on her physiognomy, when she returned to "normal". And sooner or later, one of these Einsteins might get the bright idea of starting a fire. That was one thing she did share with Frankenstein's Monster--an intense distaste for the flaming stuff.

With a sigh, she prepared to make a run for it, through the bullets, into the deeper part of the forest. But before she could make a move, all hell broke loose. She blinked in astonishment--an earthquake had suddenly hit the forest! The ground shuddered, opened up between her and the pursuing men. Great torrents of lava shot out of the earth, slowly moving its way toward her pursuers. They screamed, and fled back in the direction they had come--away from the lava, and her. Maria found herself panicking--fire, lava, was the one thing that could harm her, destroy her. While the lava didn't move in her direction at all--almost considerately, she thought with a lucid part of her mind--and although it didn't seem to actually give off any heat, she fled in the other direction from the men, deeper into the heart of the forest.

* * *

The "lava" dissipated as quickly as it had appeared, and when it had two men walked up to the clearing where Maria had been moments before. They were oddly matched. One was a tall, thin man wearing an old-fashioned Inverness jacket. He had dark, lanky hair and a drooping moustache, with a saturnine expression on his face. The other man was short and squat, and so agitated that he literally began hopping around the clearing. An onlooker would have raised their eyebrows at this latter man, inasmuch as--hopping aside--he was dressed as a court jester.

"Wyngarde!" this second man cried out in an English Midlands accent as he hopped. "You idiot! You've not only scared off the humans, you've scared _her_ off, too! What will the Master say?"

The man known as Wyngarde shrugged. "Oh, I suppose he'll have a fit. As usual. I daresay _you'll_ get the brunt of it, Mortimer. Don't you always?" His voice had the drawl of an upper-class Englishman, and sounded amused.

"Not this time!" Mortimer cried. "Not this time, Wyngarde! The Master will know whose fault this is! I guarantee you that!"

Wyngarde shrugged again. "Oh, I daresay he will. But will he _care,_ my dear Mortimer? I mean--you act as such a perfect outlet for his aggressions, after all. When in doubt, abuse _you_ a little more." Mortimer flinched, as if what the taller man had said was no more than the simple truth. He hopped around the clearing some more.

"Perhaps we can still find her," he mused, looking for signs of the way she had gone. Wyngarde looked around him languidly.

"I doubt it, Mortimer. She looked very determined, and I expect she could move quickly if the need arose. And let's face it--neither of us are right for a trek through the forest. Your hopping is no doubt useful, but still--! As for me, well, it is a bit uncivilized out here. A long way from Saville Row." He sighed.

Mortimer frowned at him. "Then you truly don't fear returning to Magneto after failing our mission?"

"I can't exactly say I'm looking forward to imparting this news to our esteemed leader," Wyngarde drawled. "But perhaps next time, it will inspire him to man these expeditions a bit more felicitously. For instance--Pietro would be very useful right about now, were _he_ with us."

Mortimer stopped hopping, and smiled. "Oh, yes! You have a point there, Wyngarde. _That_ one! Let him earn his keep for once. Do something the Master demands without whining. Just to see if he could do it."

"I believe he could," Wyngarde said. "He thinks he's a cut above the rest of us, you know--our Pietro. And his sister." Wyngarde scowled slightly. "They don't believe they're 'evil'. Just poor little lambs led astray. I don't believe they're as different from us as they think. They'll find that out some day." He smiled again. "Especially her."

Mortimer looked daggers at him. "I don't like what you're thinking, Wyngarde! Wanda will be mine."

Wyngarde actually laughed out loud at the smaller man. "Yours! Mortimer--she barely knows you exist. Except as a foul breath that seems to exhude from Magneto's nostrils." He sneered at Mortimer. "Getting a bit above your station, aren't you, my dear boy?"

Mortimer was so agitated that he started hopping again. "You stop that, Wyngarde! You stop that! You know what I mean--playing the lord-of-the-manor bit with me. You know what Magneto thinks of any of us mutants emphasizing human class or national differences. He won't stand for it! Maybe he'd be interested in the fact that you continue doing it--yes, maybe he'd be very interested in that indeed."

"And you're just the one to tell him, aren't you, Mortimer?" Wyngarde said, but a bit less diffidently than before. Mortimer's shot, it seemed, had hit home. He shrugged again.

"Ah well--there's nothing more for us here. She's gone, Mortimer. Best get back home and tell Magneto. He can decide what to do then." The two men left the clearing, in a direction that took them away from the pursuing men and Maria.

* * *

Charles Xavier sighed as he removed the helmet after a consultation with Cerebro. He felt slightly confused, because the machine--usually reliable and very clear in its indications--was giving him mixed signals. He frowned at the computer screen's simulated map, which--thanks to his connections to the FBI--he was able to access using satellite technology. Without that help, Cerebro would be a very limited tool indeed. ...Hmm. About twelve miles south-southwest of Williamsport, Pennsylvania. Very heavily forested. A good place to go into hiding, if that's what one wanted to do. A good place to hide--if you were a mutant...

He shut his eyes and focused his mutant brain west--a hundred miles, two hundred miles... No. No, it was no good--there was too much distance, and too little knowledge on his part. Had it been Scott or Jean--someone whom he knew, someone whose brain patterns he couldn't help but recognize-then contact would be easy. But someone whose mind was a blank to him--well, it was too much like a needle in a haystack.

He was about to close off his attempted mental contact, and return to Cerebro, when he froze. He was suddenly in contact with two minds he knew all too well--Mastermind, and the Toad. He had to be sure. He punched a few buttons on Cerebro, and their signal came in sharp and clear. _Northern Pennsylvania_. So they _were_ there... He looked at the electronic map, at the signals they showed him. He gave a mental sigh of relief. The unknown mutant, his quarry, was moving north. Mastermind and the Toad were headed east. He could see the distant between the two widen with every minute. At least their mission had proved abortive--for now. But they had been ahead of him! He didn't like this, that Eric had gotten the drop on him. This seemed to be becoming a habit--Magneto always being a jump ahead. The recent encounter with the Sub-Mariner had been another example--it was Eric who had taken the initiative there. And it had been only good luck--and Eric's own endless megalomania--that had kept that from becoming a disastrous shift in the mutant balance of power.

He removed his own mind completely from the area. Mastermind, after all, was a psychic himself in his way. And Eric--though not truly psychic--could somehow send his mind out from his body, in ways that Charles had to admit he didn't fully understand. There was so much about mutants and their powers that Charles felt ignorant of. They were all of them--he, Eric, Essex, Apocalypse, Moira, all of them--still babes in the woods. Even En Sabat Nur's experience, vast though it was in time, was untrained and imprecise, without the modern technology to focus on the right questions.

Charles sighed. Only Essex, he suspected, even had the right questions at this point--and that included himself, Charles Xavier. But the man who called himself "Sinister" was not about to share with anyone--certainly not with him. That man frightened him, ultimately, much more than Magneto did. Perhaps it was because he wasn't actually a mutant himself. That put him out of the game, in certain ways. Which just made him all the more cold-blooded...and dangerous.

In any event, he didn't want either Mastermind or Magneto to sense that he had been in the area psychically himself. That might rile the Brotherhood up, increase the priority of this particular mutant in their minds. Meanwhile... Yes. With the Mastermind/Toad operation seemingly a failure, here was a golden opportunity.

 _X-Men._ His mental commands swept through the Mansion as if the walls and plaster didn't exist, and all five of his students looked up from their business. Charles very briefly looked at their activities--their privacy was important to him, despite--because!--of his mental abilities. The quickest of scans... Hank was balancing on a medicine ball while reading _The Great Gatsby_. Hmm. He hadn't assigned that text...this was a good sign. Bobby was walking out near the lake wiping his brow with ice, his "instant air conditioning". Scott-- Oh dear. Charles winced slightly. Scott was sitting on the toilet. He broke off even the slight contact he had been in with the boy...this did happen occasionally. Warren...Warren was high above the Hudson Valley, just soaring for the sheer joy of it. No costume, which was fine with Charles Xavier--who'd recognize him up there? From the ground, he was just a hawk seen from afar. And Charles couldn't keep Warren from being Warren, and had no desire to try. And Jean was in the chemistry lab, trying to puzzle out the mystery of reagents. All five of them stopped what they were doing.

 _X-Men. You will assemble in my study in ten minutes, in costume. That is all._ He sighed to himself. Give Scott time to finish his business...

He looked at the electronic map again. Ye-it was unmistakable now. The unknown mutant was heading almost due north, on a path that would take him just west of Williamsport and on eventually into New York state. The X-Men had to reach him first. He paused for a moment. If they should succeed... The others were on the verge of graduating from the school. Once they had their diplomas--and the experience they had gathered as X-Men--Charles had promised himself a sabbatical. He had an old score to settle with the man who called himself "Lucifer", and he could taste the desire for vengeance in his mouth. This damned wheelchair... Well, thinking of that was counterproductive. More importantly, he was certain that Lucifer was up to something. Exactly what he wasn't sure of yet, but he could feel a menace emanating from his general direction. He felt an urgent need to travel to Europe, and deal with this--without involving the X-Men.

But now there was the prospect of a new student in the Mansion, of a new young mutant to train and develop. He couldn't leave at such a moment. Revenge would have to wait. As for the menace... He sighed to himself. Something would turn up.

At the end of the designated ten minutes he was in the office, and they of course were as well. They gazed at him, curious but confident that he'd speak when he was ready. What trust they had in him! He felt the burden of that trust as a ten-ton weight sometimes, grinding him down. Still--he could only do his best. And they were a finely-honed tool by now. He was proud of their abilities, proud of how they worked together. No other team in the world had their sense of who they were, and what they could do--as a team. Whatever the sins of his life, he had done well here.

"Greetings, my X-Men," he said in his speaking voice. "I have a mission for you. There is a new mutant I have discovered. You are to find him-or her-and convince them to come to the Mansion for refuge."

They nodded, understanding at once. "Is there anything you can tell us about this mutant, Professor?" Cyclops asked.

Charles winced slightly in his head. Those anomalous readings-! What _did_ they mean...? "Not yet, Scott. I've only had a mental sighting so far." Not strictly true, but he wasn't ready to share the secret of Cerebro with the rest of them at this time. "The mutant is currently west of Williamsport, Pennsylvania, and heading north towards New York state."

Jean nodded. "Very well, Professor. Perhaps we should do a little scouting in Williamsport itself--see if anyone has seen or heard of anything unusual?"

"An excellent suggestion, Jean. By all means. But I think that one of you, anyway, should proceed immediately to the New York/Pennsylvania border to be ready for anything that might happen. You can all be in mental contact with me, and thus with each other."

Some more details of the mission were ironed out, and they got the _Blackbird_ ready for departure. "Just remember," Charles told them before they left. "Be gentle with this mutant. He might have been through all sorts of nightmares. We know something about what normal humans can be like when they encounter those of our kind, do we not?" he asked, a slight smile on his face. They nodded. They all had had experiences of their own with frightened humans.

Charles relaxed after their departure. At least he had taken the initiative this day, thanks to luck, he admitted--the Brotherhood's own failure. But he had acted. _Perhaps a trick of my own, Eric. We shall see._

* * *

_"Hello, Dolly...well hello, Dolly...it's so nice to see you back where you belong..._ "

Frank Gianelli smiled to himself. How good to hear some real music on the radio! He saluted the hash house on West 32st Street as he passed. "Nice to hear you again, Pops!" he cried out to Louis Armstrong, and the world in general. Real music, to Frank, was Pops--and Sinatra, and Miles, and Brubeck, and Sarah Vaughan. It most definitely was _not_ four effeminate-looking boys from Liverpool with girly haircuts and Edwardian suits. But the Beatles were everywhere these days on the radio--at least, until Pops had knocked them off. And not a moment too soon.

He turned up Sixth Avenue--like all New Yorkers, he refused to call it "The Avenue of the Americas"--and, with a couple of head turns to look at girls in skirts shorter than any he had ever seen, he approached his goal: The _Daily Bugle_ Building. He entered through the doors, walked to the elevators. Ah--here was one now. The doors opened, and he started to enter...

Frank blinked from his position of being flat on his back. Someone was looking down at him with an apologetic expression.

"Gosh, Mr. Gianelli! I'm so sorry!" A boy of perhaps seventeen was standing above him, not particularly tall or muscular. Frank blinked. This kid knew him--did he know the kid? He stared, then the memory came to him. Oh yeah...

"Parker, isn't it?" he said, as the young man helped him to his feet.

"That's right, Mr. Gianelli. Gosh-guess I wasn't being careful. Sorry. Didn't mean to knock you over."

"That's OK, son. You're Jameson's hot-shot kid news photographer, aren't you?" Cripes--the way the kid picked him up! Frank felt like he didn't weigh anything. This kid might be on the small side, but he had muscles like Charles Atlas.

"Yes, sir. And I know you all right. Everyone's heard about your stories concerning--well, you know."

Frank smiled, a bit cockily. Indeed, everyone knew those stories. Especially a certain J. Jonah Jameson. And they stuck in the old man's craw but good. This had given a certain young reporter named Frank Gianelli a great deal of satisfaction, indeed. It had also raised that same Frank Gianelli's stock in Jameson's eyes. Jonah respected professionalism, above all else.

"OK, kid. No harm done. We'll have to compare notes about life someday. After all--with my stories-and what you get with that camera of yours--"

"I'd like that, Mr. Gianelli."

"Frank, OK?"

"Sure. And I'm Pete." With mutual waves, Peter Parker left the _Bugle_ building, and Frank went up to the 26th floor, where he had his desk. He smiled to himself. A Pulitzer was probably too much too hope for. He was still young, after all, and there was a lot of other action in the world these days. But his stories had caused a stir--especially here at the _Bugle_. Well, that was no surprise...

He got to the desk. He had no special stories he was working on right now, which suited him fine. He could do what he needed to do--hopefully, without anyone being the wiser. It might take a little shading of the truth, but it was in a good cause. At least, he hoped so...

_Maria, I'm going to find you. I'm going to try to make this all right. I'll try. God knows what anyone can really do for you now. But that's what I'm hoping to find out, if I can. And I swear to you, kid--whatever happens, I'm not running out on you. I'm never going to do that again._

A door opened across the large city room. There were a number of reporters present, some writing on their brand-new electric typewriters--Frank loved his old Remington, but he guessed he'd adjust to the new era--some talking on phones, some just sitting at their desks seemingly doing nothing. Just like him. A man appeared in the doorway, saw Frank, and frowned. He was in his late forties, small, with graying hair and glasses.

"Not too busy, are you Gianelli?" the man called across the room to him. Ben Urich was that most favored of all mortals--a columnist. As such, he had his own office, even his own lavatory--a scarcely-to-be-believed luxury--and the overwhelming spite and jealousy of this room of struggling shoe-leather reporters. He also represented everything that Frank Gianelli wanted to be. There were legends in New York City reporting, and Ben Urich was very definitely one of them. Frank knew that he at least had sense enough to recognize that fact. And maybe knowing it was one of the things that didn't make him hopeless.

Urich walked over to Frank's desk. "Resting on our laurels, Mr. Gianelli?" he asked, a bit less fiercely than Frank had been expecting. "It's over three months until they announce the Pulitzers. Are you going to do any--I dunno, what's the word?--'work' in the meantime?"

"Ask the City Editor," Frank said, not about to take any shit from Ben Urich--and the latter didn't expect him to, to his credit.

"As if he knows his ass from a hole in the ground," Ben said. "Jameson's gonna have to make a change one of these days. I think you might have saved the poor schmoe's job with your stories."

Frank grunted. Still barely a cub reporter, he had been able to get a source that led him to another source, slowly but inexorably leading him to the heart of the biggest crime syndicate New York had ever known--the one led by the individual everyone called "The Big Man". The only man able to unite the Five Maggia Families, the emerging Colombians, the Mexicans, and even the very reclusive--and hard to intimidate--Israelis. By dint of sheer guts, hard work, and very nasty enforcers--nasty even by New York standards--The Big Man had ruled the city for months. Finally, bad luck--and Spider-Man--had brought it all toppling down, and the usual anarchy had been unleashed again in the New York crime universe. Frank had written scoop after scoop detailing the Syndicate, receiving--amongst other honors--a visit from a very large gentleman calling himself "The Ox", who told Frank in very graphic detail what would happen to him should he continue his unfortunate efforts. This hadn't deterred him, of course--though it had gotten him a bodyguard courtesy of Jameson.

Finally, the Big Man's identity had come out. And it had hit the _Bugle_ like an atom bomb. It had been none other than Frederick Foswell--one of their own! The Syndicate had been run right out of the _Bugle_ building. It had been an embarrassment to the paper, of course--but the revelation had also put their circulation figures through the roof. Just about everyone had gotten some secret enjoyment out of the affair--everyone, that is, except Jameson. J Jonah Jameson, everyone at the _Bugle_ knew, believed in loyalty above all. He gave it unconditionally, and he expected it as well. Foswell's betrayal had cut him to the heart.

Frank had been very close to the secret of "The Big Man" when everything went down. He sometimes regretted that Spider-Man had butted in, before he could expose Foswell himself. But on the other hand... Maybe he had been getting _too_ close. If he had waited--if Foswell had sensed his danger--well, Frank Gianelli would in all likelihood have been placed in a pair of hundred-pound cement galoshes, and given a one-way tour of the bottom of the East River. He had had a lot of publicity and credit over this-maybe he should just cash in his chips, and think himself lucky. He tried to think that way. But his ambition made him keep regretting, nonetheless...

"Well, there's always something new in New York," Frank said. He pushed a front page from a few days ago at Ben. "This guy, now...yet another one. A 'super-hero'." He was referring to a gray photograph of a man cruising across the rooftops of Manhattan swinging a billy-club, who had become very famous in recent weeks. "Calls himself 'Daredevil'."

Ben scowled. "Yeah...Christ. When I was a kid, all we had was the Human Torch and the Sub-Mareener duking it out over the West Side docks once in awhile. And of course, them--and Captain America--over in Europe during the War. Christ on a crutch, I almost dipped myself in shit when they said a few weeks ago that he was still alive."

"Yeah," Frank said, trying hard not to smile when he heard Ben's little turn of phrase just now. Ben Urich's famous--infamous--piece of advice, vouchsafed to every cub reporter on the _Bugle_ who complained about _anything_ , was: "Life's a shit sandwich, kid. And every day you take another bite."

"Umm," Ben grunted. "And now--ever since Reed Psycho Richards steals a space ship and comes down with him and his friends a bunch of freaks--now, somehow, it's everywhere. I wonder why." He was silent for a moment. "I wonder, kid. If there isn't something behind all this..."

Frank saw his opportunity, but Ben spoke first. "This guy," he said, pointing at the picture of Daredevil. "Christ--have you seen his costume? A combination of black and lemon yellow. Looks like something somebody might have vomited up."

Frank shrugged. "Hey, maybe he's the world's first color-blind super-hero."

Urich glared at him. "Terrific. There's your reporter's instincts at work, kid. Go to it."

Frank waved his hand in mock modesty. He had to get the topic back to where he wanted it. "I'm interested in what you said, Ben. About something 'behind' this. Like the mutants? These X-Men, and Magneto and his crew...they're popping up all over the place. You think that's a coincidence?"

Ben Urich looked thoughtful. "You know, Gianelli, sometimes you actually sound like a real reporter. Honest-to-Christ, you do. That's actually a good question."

Frank mentally blew a sigh of relief. If Ben Urich thought there was something here- "I'm actually doing a little investigating along these lines already, Ben." And that was the God's honest truth. "Mutants--I think there's something important there." And that too was the absolute truth.

Ben looked intrigued--almost against his better judgment, Frank thought. "There's _something_ here, _Paisan_. What angle have you got?"

Frank was ready for this question. "I'm interested in how mutants react when they become mutants--at puberty, it's supposed. How people respond. How society regards them. What happens then, at the intersection of human and mutant. How they get shunted between the X-Men alternative, I guess you'd call it, and the Magneto one. Or whether they'd prefer to stay neutral, or just go into hiding. We've all seen what's been happening--Magneto's attack on Cape Citadel, he and the other so-called 'evil' mutants and their invasion of Central America awhile back. People are getting nervous. Seems to me that what happens to mutants when they're young--what factors prompt them to one path or another--is an important question."

Here it was. Ben Urich was the shrewdest man he knew. If he recognized that Frank had an ulterior motive for all this... But Ben merely frowned, and looked intrigued.

"You have something there, kid," he said. "I hate to admit it, but you do. I don't remember anyone doing this angle before. Does our government have some sort of protocol? Is any effort being made to educate the public about this? Are any private groups trying to exploit these new mutants--either human or mutant groups? Other than the ones we know about, that is, X-Men and Magneto..." Ben mused. "Kid, you're onto something."

Frank smiled. Despite everything, he was pleased to hear Ben think that just as a journalist, his instincts were sound--ulterior motive or not. "I wonder if there are any reports of isolated mutants being seen lately. Whether they started a riot, or anything. Or even just were noticed anywhere."

"Good question," Ben said. "Come on kid. I'm interested. Let's find out."

An hour later, Frank Gianelli had read the reports of something very odd happening in Williamsport, Pennsylvania. Every instinct he had told him he was on the right track at last.

_OK, Maria. I swear to God that I'll find you, at least. And try to tell you everything. You think you know it all, but you don't. When you do know, I don't think you'll forgive. I know I wouldn't. But maybe you'll understand. And maybe that'll be enough, for now._

* * *

The flames were coming closer now. Maria was trapped. But even though the flames were devouring the house, she was somehow cold. She went to the window, and even as she did so, she realized that the house she had been in had somehow vanished. But the fire was still there, getting closer...

No matter. She looked out the window, a scared little girl of thirteen, crying out for someone to save her. The people walking the city streets acted as if they were deaf, ignoring her pleas. Why didn't somebody call the fire department? The flames were reaching her...the smoke began to envelope her... _Mommy! Daddy! Save me!_ Her voice sounded strange to her, even taking her panic into account. What was happening to her?

The flames leaped again, and in their light she could see her reflection in the window. She gasped. What was happening to her? Was it the fire? Why was she feeling so strange? That sense she had--of suddenly knowing that she was dreaming, was falling into a nightmare--came over her, and she knew that she was on the verge of waking up, that the nightmare would soon be over. She knew that nothing bad was really happening...

She awoke with a start. It was raining slightly, a warm early summer rain that felt good after the dream fire... She stood up by the old oak tree which she had chosen to sleep next to. She put her hands to her face, felt the texture of her skin, felt her entire body as movement and animation came to it after sleep.

 _Sorry, kiddo,_ she said to her thirteen-year old dream self. _Sometimes nightmares really do come true. And there's no waking_. She squatted behind the tree to empty her bladder, and looked around. She had been heading vaguely northwest, towards New York state. Ahead of her was a thicket of evergreens, with an occasional oak and sugar maple blended in. There was no path, but travelling against the grain that way presented no problems for her, and it might conceivably throw anyone following her off the scent. That someone was looking for her seemed certain. The more she thought of that "volcano" the day before, the more bizarre it seemed. Volcanoes didn't pop up that quickly, and their lava sure as hell didn't oh-so-conveniently travel in one direction...away from her. Therefore, that "lava" wasn't real. Therefore, it was an illusion. And that meant Mastermind. And that meant that Magneto was looking for her.

Maria sighed. Mutant politics. Was it naive to think that she could avoid them? Maybe so. Still--she had managed for four years now on her own. Very definitely on her own, she thought bitterly. She caught herself. No, this wasn't the time for that... (It was always time, part of her said. Always. _Shut up,_ she told that part of her.) She had informed herself of mutant news as best she could, if only to know what to avoid. She smiled. It hadn't been easy. She couldn't exactly waltz into a library and ask to see the latest copy of _The New York Times._ But she did the best she could. For most of those four years, there had been little enough information. Mutants were a rumor, a whisper that people refused to believe, like UFOs. It was only in the past year that it had all become public--Magneto's attack on Cape Citadel, the emergence of the X-Men, then the Brotherhood of Mutants as a counterweight to the X-Men. And the media immediately labelling them "The Brotherhood of Evil Mutants". That alone was almost enough for Maria to sympathize with them.

Almost, but not quite. In the past few months, her traditional toughness hadn't been enough anymore. She realized, slowly but surely, that she might be a pawn between Magneto and the X-Men--a prize, to be captured. A possession. This thought panicked her. Whatever else she would be, she would be free. If she had to spend the rest of her life on the run, travelling across country and staying under the radar of the world--living the life she'd been living these past four years--then so be it. Better loneliness, destitution, bitterness, than being a _possession._ And she knew with absolute certainty that the only reason anyone could want her--the only value she had for any individual or group, human or mutant--was as just that: a possession, a _thing._

The X-Men... Hold on now. Mastermind. Magneto. The Brotherhood...they were on her trail. That meant that the X-Men were, too. That followed as the night followed the day. So she now had _both_ groups to watch out for.

She found herself bent down, her head in her hands. It was just too much. There was so much power, so much ambition, arrayed against her. And she was totally alone. There wasn't even the possibility of aid, not from anyone on Earth. The nightmare...it had no ending. Could have no ending. She wasn't even sure she could commit suicide. She wasn't even sure she could die. She was damned sure that she couldn't live. That option had been taken from her years before .

Enough of this. She rose, and started on again. To hell with self-pity. She was what she was. Let Magneto come for her! Let the X-Men show up! She'd show them all a thing or two.


	2. Family Matters

 

Chapter Two

* * *

Pete Simpowicz was still having trouble believing his eyes. Girls like this just didn't casually stroll into Bennie's Pool Hall every day. Tall, red-haired, a real looker...and dressed so fine, in a green summer dress that just spelled "class". She wasn't from Williamsport, he knew that...a doll like this, he would have seen her around town somewhere. And she was so nice, so interested in him! She just smiled at him, and flashed those green eyes, and started a conversation so easily... Before Pete knew it, he was telling her all about the great hoopla yesterday.

"Oh, yeah," he said. "A whole bunch of us went up into the woods west of town. We had to, you see. There was such a commotion..."

"Really?" the girl asked him. "What happened?"

"Well, people started screaming over on Maple Street, by Momma Clarice's place. Some sort of monster had been seen trying to get food out of a trash can, if you can believe it! Well, that seemed kind of funny to me--you know--monster on Maple Street--just like that _Twilight Zone_ episode--you know, 'The Monsters are Out on Maple Street' "-

The red-haired girl just smiled appreciatively. Jeez--she was just so nice! "Yeah...well, anyway, there was a lot of confusion and panic. People said that it was the Hulk at first, and that scared us pretty bad. I mean, what could we do against the Hulk, you know? Then they said it was Frankenstein's Monster, or the Mummy, or the Wolf Man, or Fin Fang Foom, and nobody could figure out what or who it was, or even if anyone had ever really seen anything. But then there came a cry over to the west, on the edge of town--someone had durned well seen _something_ heading off into the forest, moving vaguely south and west. We asked what it was, but no one could say--there were various descriptions, but they made no sense. So a bunch of us thought, well, maybe we ought to go up into the hills and take a look for ourselves. I mean, some of those witnesses were really spooked. No one said anything about this thing attacking anybody, or nothing like that. But nobody felt like taking any chances. I mean, they sure saw something, and in this world in which Hulks and muties and monsters are a fact of life, well, we did what we felt we had to do."

"That must have been very brave," the girl said, with a warm and encouraging smile. Pete puffed his chest up.

"Well, thank you kindly, miss. A few of us had had military experience, going back to the Big One...I missed that, but I might enlist in the Marines soon. I mean, it's a way of serving the country and all, get out of here for awhile--not that there's anything wrong with good old Williamsport..."

She smiled at him again, and without his quite knowing how, got him back to the point. "Yeah--well--a bunch of us tracked this thing through the woods. It didn't exactly try to hide its trail or anything. Every once in awhile, we could see broken limbs and even crushed rocks strewn asunder. Well, we knew we were dealing with something funny, that was for sure. We were getting more and more nervous when bang, just like that! This--thing--pops out from behind a rock and starts to attack! Well, we started shooting--naturally!--but I swear, the bullets just bounced off the thing! I started getting real scared right then, and I know I wasn't alone, that's for sure. And then this thing just waves its hand, and lava started to flow from its fingertips! I swear to God! That whole clearing became a damned volcano! It was just like I dunno--the Human Torch, or Thor! We ran, and I'm not ashamed to say it. Yeah, we hightailed it out of there and back to town as fast as our legs could carry us. Joe--that's Joe Strunk, our sheriff--well, when he heard the story, he called the authorities higher up. We're hoping to hear from the Avengers one of these days..."

Pete shook his head. "Miss, I tell you--whatever that was, it wasn't human. Maybe a mutie, maybe some space alien like a Skrull...I dunno. But it sure wasn't human." She commiserated with his experience, showed that warm smile again, and suddenly Pete realized that she was gone. He hadn't even noticed her departure. How did she do that? He sighed. Pretty girl...he sure hoped he'd see her again some day.

* * *

"That's actually one of the more lucid accounts I've heard," Jean told her fellow X-Men back at the motel. They had rented three rooms, and were gathered together in hers now. "Have the rest of you heard anything more concrete?"

The four boys shrugged. "Miss Grey, modesty behooves me to reply in the negative," Hank said. "Much sound and fury, signifying nothing, as best as I can tell. Some sort of 'monster'--a chase through the woods--and an explosion of lava and fire."

"Mastermind," Scott sighed. "Well, the Professor told us he had been here. I'm just glad the Brotherhood seems to have gone away for now. That's a complication we don't need at this point."

Warren looked out at the day--the early rain had stopped, and it was misty and sticky. "If what the Professor said was correct, our quarry is heading north now. Towards New York state...how long would it take to get there by foot?"

Bobby shrugged. "Maybe three days. We're what, fifty miles from the border? More? Does it really matter what state we corner him in, anyway?"

Scott looked pensive. "If he gets that far away, though, we're not likely ever to run him down. He's probably scared, and certainly hungry, if he was raiding wastebaskets. The Professor wanted one of us in that general area--the New York border... Warren." He turned to the blond young Adonis, still wearing civilian clothes. "Would you care to get out of that harness and reconnoiter between here and the border? You can be our advance scout."

Warren merely smiled in reply, and went back to his room. A moment later, a figure in a black-and-yellow costume swooped above the motel, high above Williamsport, heading north. The others watched him go until he was a speck in the sky, indistinguishable from the hawks that flew above the local forests.

"And the rest of us, Scott?" Jean asked, all business. In response, Scott brought out a large road map of Pennsylvania.

"Here," he said. "One of us will head up straight north, trailing Route Fifteen. Towards Blossberg and Mansfield. See what you can see, hear what you hear. Eyes and ears open. Another will go northeast, hugging Route Fourteen towards Canton. A third will go northwest, on Route Two-Eighty Seven and Wellsboro. And one of us will remain right here, in case our quarry circles back, into town or towards the south." He looked at them. "OK--I'll head north. Hank, you'll head northwest. Bobby, you'll go northeast. Jean, you stay here and act as our central control, in case he _does_ circle back."

Jean was about to open her mouth to protest--she felt strongly that Scott was trying to keep her out of danger, just because she was a girl. But she thought better of it. His plan made sense, and someone had to remain. But she wasn't happy about it. Within five minutes, she was alone at the motel.

* * *

Frank Gianelli checked into the motel on the outskirts of Williamsport. He wasn't exactly sure what he planned to do here, but something--a reporter's hunch--told him that he was supposed to be here, and that something, somehow, would present itself. Meanwhile, he had his _Bugle_ expense account to keep him warm. He deserved an Oscar for his performance in convincing the City Editor to assign him here, to chase his "how young mutants chose sides" story--a story that, in fact, he had a strong interest in. For reasons of his own.

He strolled into the office area of the motel, to get a Coke. Just leaving was a stunning young girl in a green summer dress and bright red hair. She smiled absently at him, and he nodded, holding the door for her. He sighed--just a bit young for him. But by God, you'd notice her in a million--!

Back in his room, he stretched out his maps of the area. He had to talk to various members of the mob who had encountered Maria in the woods. That it had been Maria he no longer had any doubts, if only because the descriptions of the "monster" in the press accounts sounded exactly like the monster in Sturgeon's "It", and he knew that Maria loved that story. He chuckled to himself. Who else but Maria would choose _that_ particular creature to imitate, in scaring a bunch of human pursuers out of their wits? Still, he needed to talk to as many of those pursuers as he could, if only to salve his conscience that he was actually earning his pay.

The maps--which way would she go? The encounter had been southwest of town... North. He was sure of it. At least for awhile. But then... there was a large mountain north of the town. What would she do than? He looked at the map. North--and west. Yes, he was certain.

Well, Gianelli--what's your priority here? Earning your salary and expense account? Talking to the local yokels? Or Maria? He sighed. That was no question at all. He left his room, got into his car. He promised himself that he'd come back to town and do those interviews...

* * *

Maria was walking north, for some reason obscurely pleased with herself. The looks on the faces of those men, when the bullets just _thwooped_ through her! She was striding at full speed, feeling strong, confident, able to take on anything that man--or mutant--could throw at her. She'd get these feelings, than plunge into deep depression just as easily. Was she a manic-depressive? God-who the hell knew what she was. Did any of that mumbo-jumbo apply to mutants at all? And cripes--if she didn't have a right to mood swings, who did? Anyway, she was going to enjoy the feeling as long as it lasted. She was going to enjoy _something._

A large mountain blocked her field of vision. She paused. Should she head east, get to the area of the main road and continue north? Or cross the road there and go east? No--in that general direction lay New York City. She avoided even the temptation to go in the direction of home.

West, then. Cutting across the grain of the forest, something she was an expert at, she made her way up laterally though the foothills of the large mountain, now on her right. She sighed. She was hungry. She had barely gotten a few mouthfuls before the Torches and Pitchforks Brigade had spotted her. Well, she could last for awhile. She'd encounter some sort of civilization sooner or later, and get some food. Somehow. She shuddered at the thought of some of the things she had done to avoid starving--things involving capturing animals and cooking them over a fire. And once in a while, without a fire. Blessedly, those moments had been few. But they had occurred, now and again.

That was her life, these past four years since her mutation manifested itself. At least she had _known_ what was happening to her, thanks to Frank. Before the X-Men and Magneto had become front-page news, so many mutants had no idea what they were, what happened to them at puberty. Maria wondered how many were killed--by their families, their villages, even by committing suicide... Probably a lot. She gave a silent prayer for their souls.

She wondered if she'd ever be tempted to go back to the carnival. In the last four years, that was the only place where she even felt close to any kind of acceptance--with her fellow freaks. At least she got three square meals a day. But in the end, she was too much even for them. But she wondered sometimes how they were doing, the people she knew--especially Gunther and Carmella. Her fellow mutants. And they didn't even know it then. Did they now? She would have given a lot to know the answer to that question.

Finally, the path wound down, slightly southwest. Still no sign of civilization. Ah well--as Mr Micawber would say, something would turn up. She sighed. She had always loved Dickens...

* * *

In a room somewhere, a figure stirred. The figure rose, and looked out through the window. _They're all out there. Magneto, with his Brotherhood. Thinking he is in control. As always. Xavier. Thinking_ _he_ _is in control. Thinking that he is in a contest with Magnus, that the fate of the mutants depends upon their rivalry. A mutant Cold War. Odd, how that Cold War mentality seems to have entered into the very fabric of this world. But there are other factions, other power bases, than just Magnus and Xavier. There is Essex. There is Apocalypse. And that's just the mutants. Richards, Stark and the Avengers...so many. Not to mention, yes, the USA and the USSR._

The figure stared out into space, as if trying to see the entire world at a glance. _No matter. The world will work itself out as it will. Right now, the girl is the important thing. A step at a time, a piece at a time. She is the key that opens the door to so much. And she doesn't realize it. She has no idea. Or does she?_ The figure stirred, as if considering something that it didn't entirely appreciate. _Perhaps I am underestimating Maria Gianelli? Could she have some inkling? This is a disquieting thought. I must observe her more closely. Then I shall know._

The figure began to pace the room. _And always, at the beginning and end of every consideration, there is Jean Grey. And I_ _know_ _she has no idea yet of her importance. At least there is time for that one. It should be years before she realizes anything, years before she senses anything but odd dreams and inchoate images. Yes, there is time. But I must use that time. And when_ _her_ _time arrives, I must be ready._

The room was dark, but the figure had no desire for any extra light. The darkness was soothing, helped the figure keep a steady temperament. _Jean is looking for Maria. The entire X-Men are, of course, as is the Brotherhood. Maria is the key now to the Cold War between them. Is it a good thing, if Maria joins the X-Men? Well, good or no, it's probably inevitable. Then Jean and Maria...they shall of course become intimate friends. And that will have its own ramifications, God knows._ The figure returned to its chair, and shut its eyes. _I cannot tell. If the course of action goes in the direction I suspect it will--the direction it almost certainly_ _has_ _to go--well, I cannot tell, and that is all there is to it. Meanwhile, the pieces are all on the board--Maria, Jean, the X-Men, the Brotherhood, Magnus, Xavier--even the girl's brother. Who, God knows, has his own importance. How the game will develop, I cannot say. It is still early. But that the game will be interesting, I have no doubt._ The figure chuckled. It could hardly wait.

* * *

As the day went on, the sun peeped from behind the clouds. It remained warm and sticky, but Maria had experienced worse, so she ignored it as best she could. The mountain gradually began to recede on her right. Ahead were rolling hills and dark, impenetrable forest. This was a park or national forest or something, she vaguely recalled...a good place to lie low, maybe for a few days. And if it was a park, maybe she could swipe a picnic basket or two. _Like Yogi Bear. Well, it wouldn't be the first time._

The ground she was walking on gradually sloped downwards as she headed west. Soon she could see a small valley ahead of her, going from north to south across her field of vision. A small road hugged the hillside. There were no cars to be seen, but she decided to wait as she approached the road. She didn't want to take even the chance of encountering any humans right now.

She shut her eyes, suddenly aware of just how tired she was. Tired in ways she couldn't remember being, physically, mentally, emotionally. Even her mutant stamina--one of the few blessings she'd gotten out of it all--had its limits. Just how long, she wondered, would this last? Her wandering the countryside, eating when she could, keeping out of the way of humans--and, increasingly, mutants? How long before someone or other found her and put her in a cage? Or tried to... She knew one thing. Anyone who tried to do that--to make her a specimen, a possession--risked their lives. She would fight to remain free. Even if "freedom" meant only the right to keep doing what she was doing. There was nothing else she could imagine, no positive goals. That had been denied her, and she knew better than to hope that it would ever change. (She suddenly seemed to hear a car approach. Yes, it was certainly there. She stretched out behind an oak, and waited for it to pass.) She was certain she could defend herself well against any enemy. Though she had never engaged in a "super-hero fight", she could--as the phrase went--take care of herself. And she certainly had no intention of fighting fair.

She took some deep breaths, in and out, in and out. Vaguely wondering what direction she'd go when the car passed and she crossed the road to climb the next hill. "Why did the mutant cross the road?" She chuckled, but could come up with no punchline. She suddenly realized that she hadn't in fact heard the car pass. She stiffened. What was that sound?

Peering around, she saw a car parked alongside the road, still a couple of hundred yards below. And yes--there was definitely a human figure walking alongside the road, looking first southwards into her stretch of forest, then across the road northwards. And was he shouting something? Yes--what was it...

A faint voice, but very clear. "Maria! Maria! Are you here?"

The world exploded, the sun went out, atom bombs went off inside Maria Gianelli's head. This was impossible. _Frank!_ She started to shudder, the stress and shock overwhelming her. The voice continued to call, more insistently now, and there could be no more doubt. It was her brother Frank. Maria began to cry. She couldn't help it, she began to sob and couldn't control it. She fell to her knees, her head in her hands, and the tears came and came. She couldn't even tell what she was feeling. Rage, sorrow, hatred, love, joy--? All of them and none of them. Many years of feelings, of emotions so intense she couldn't describe them to herself, came to the surface. Her emotional binge was so intense she wondered if she was dying. Could this be death at last--her death, her long-wondered about mutant death? And was that relief she was feeling, if so?

Her binge lasted a long time, she didn't know how long. Finally, she began to settle herself and leaned up against the oak. She didn't hear Frank's voice any more. Had he gone? And what did she think, if he had? She didn't know anything right then.

There was a shadow above her. Her eyes were still full of tears, but she wiped them away with her hand and looked up.

_My God!_

Frank looked down at her, a slight smile on his face. "You were making enough of a racket to wake the dead, kid." He had his hand out, to offer her a lift to her feet.

She looked at him, eyes unblinking. Every nightmare she had ever had these past four years was coming true right now. She made some sort of noise in her throat, shook her head, slowly at first but faster and faster, until it was moving like a metronome sped up to some extravagant pace.

"No," she croaked. Then, slightly more normal: "No. Go away. For God's sake, Frank, go away!"

Frank squatted down. "Now why would I want to do that, kid? After all the trouble I've taken to find you?"

"You're not real!" she cried. "Nothing in that life is real! It never existed! God, do I have to tell _you_ that, Frank? You were there! You know!"

He gently and tentatively put his hand out to her, touched her hand softly. "I know, kid. I know. Maria--I don't blame you for _anything_ you've felt these past four years. You've earned every single emotion you've experienced. And more. But there are things you need to know. After that, if you tell me to get lost, I will. But please--the last few months have been crazy, kid. And they explain so much. I know you can't forgive. I wouldn't, in your shoes. But maybe you can understand. And maybe, for now, that'll be enough."

" 'Understand', Frank?" she said, suddenly, almost terrifyingly, on her feet. "Understand what? Oh--I understand the rejection of my family when I started to change. After all, that's what families of mutants do. It's practically a cliche, isn't it? Along with the Torches and Pitchforks, and the fear and hatred of 'ordinary' people. Well, that's what the script says, and we can't go against the script, now can we?" Her voice suddenly got thick and her rage almost choked her like smoke. "By God, no! The script must be followed at all costs. Naturally I'd become an outcast. Naturally. Even naturally, Daddy would try to make a buck out of me by exhibiting me in a carnival as a freak. That's what _he'd_ do, isn't it?"

"Maria--"

"Oh! Well, maybe I've been a bit too tough. No Torches and Pitchforks for Daddy! No, he saw his chance and he took it! Well, why would I be any different from anything else he encountered in his worthless life! Tell me, Frank--did Daddy ever pimp you out to a male brothel?"

Frank looked like she had struck him across the face. "That's a low blow, kid."

"Is it, Frank? You tell me. Honestly. Do you think he was incapable of it?"

Frank looked at the ground. "I don't know. Maybe not."

Maria shuddered again. "No, 'maybe not'. And he sure knew what to do with me! Though I do have to credit him for one thing--that was the last time I got three squares a day. But it got too much. I was too much a freak even for _them._ The customers were getting _too_ scared. So Daddy--"

Frank shook his head. "Kid, I swear--if I had known what he was planning-"

Maria took Frank's face in her hands. "Maybe you would. Maybe, Frank. I could never really figure you out. You were away at college when this happened, I know..."

He snorted. "Bowdoin is only in Maine. I should have been paying more attention. When I learned you were a mutant-"

She smiled at him, almost a tender smile. "At least you knew what I was. So many mutants and their families didn't."

He shrugged. "I heard a lecture by a guy in a wheelchair named Xavier. He knew his stuff. If everything hadn't happened so suddenly at the end there, I might have taken you to him. Maybe he'd have known what to do. Something. Anything."

"That's sweet, Frank. Really. But what could he--what could any human--have known?" And as suddenly as that, Maria Gianelli was crying like a little girl, and Frank's arms were around her. Her sobs wracked her, until she finally shook her head angrily.

"Dammit, no. I'm tough. I don't need tears."

"Tell me about it," he said, smiling at her, that damned knowing smile of--blast it!--an older brother. She returned the smile, almost against her will.

"That was so strange, Frank--that crying binge. You know what it was? We were talking--I was talking to you--and I suddenly realized, I _wanted_ to. I realized that I actually missed my family. Or at least, I missed _you._ Not--"

"Not Mom and Dad," Frank said softly.

"No. Not Mom and Dad."

"Well, kid--it's like I said. If I had known that he was planning on selling you--like an animal--away from the carny...to that Essex character..."

She shuddered again, the memory still so clear in her mind. "God, Frank. If you could have seen him! So creepy-- He talked. Oh, he loved to talk! About everything--but especially evolution. And about his plans for me, and my role in evolution. It was as if he wasn't actually doing what he was doing--as if he wasn't _buying_ me like a slave! And Daddy--oh, he was all smiles. Essex was paying him a fortune for me. This was better than the carny any day! I had outlived my usefulness _there._ But this was his big pay-day. His strike of a lifetime."

Frank shook his head. "God, kid...I know something of what you must have been thinking. A little something. Because when I heard later, I wanted to kill him."

Maria looked Frank full in the face. "Well--maybe that runs in the family, too."

He returned the look in full measure. "Mom... Kid--I know something now I didn't then. This is why I've been looking for you. So that you'd know."

" 'Know'?" Maria said, her voice savage. "Just what is there to 'know', Frank? That my own mother tried to kill me? In a flood of obscenities? If I hadn't grabbed the knife..." Maria stopped then. That moment was so imprinted on her memory... "Mom had never said much to me, Ever since I can remember. She let Daddy do the talking--which God knows, he was good at. She did her duty--she dressed me, fed me, washed me. But it was almost as if she was a robot with me. I know she loved you. I saw her. But me..." Maria shrugged. "It was like I wasn't really alive or something."

"I always wondered," Frank said. "I really did, kid. And I always tried to make it up to you as best I could."

"Yes," Maria said, suddenly, impulsively grabbing his hand. "You were a brother to me, Frank. Maybe my only link to sanity. And when my mutation started becoming apparent...Mom..." She shuddered from the memories. "It was as if I wasn't there. Invisible. My God, Frank--I would have preferred hysterics and denunciations as the daughter of Satan. But she was just so-- _quiet._ "

Frank looked thoughtful. "I know, Maria. I know. I was at school, and only got a glimpse of all this. But that was when she started to be lost to us. When she went--over the edge."

Maria suddenly felt a deep sadness. She felt an intense longing that they, all of them, could live in a world where people could be happy and tolerant and forgiving of everything--mutations, past hatreds, past crimes. But that world didn't exist, could not exist. Even this--this brief talk with her brother--would end soon. And it would be back to the forests and the picnic baskets. Whenever he was finished saying what it was he was going to say...

"I don't know if she could have killed me," she said quietly. "God, Frank--I don't know if I _can_ die. Or if so, what it would take." She looked into his eyes. "Isn't that something? That would be a blessing for anyone else. But it's my curse. Maybe I'll walk the earth--forever."

He took her hand. "You're never alone, Maria. Not if you don't want to be. Please--know that, if you know anything."

She smiled, and removed her hand from his. "I know, Frank. Maybe I hadn't known that, or forgotten...but I know. But look at me!" She laughed as she raised her arms over her head. "Do we go to the ballpark together? Or shopping? Tell me, Frank!"

He shook his head. "I don't have any answers, kid. I wish I did. But I don't want you to feel that you're totally cut off from the world. You're not."

She leaned over and kissed his cheek as carefully as she could. "Bless you, Frank... That day. The carny had kicked me out. I was _too_ freakish, even for them. I was about to be sold into _slavery_ to a lunatic in love with the sound of his own voice--for purposes I couldn't imagine. I was only _thirteen._ Daddy was telling Mom all this. And then--" She looked off into a distance that only she could see. "The explosion. After all those years of no reaction at all to me. The obscenities. The knife." She blinked away some tears. "I managed to get it out of her hand--after all, I was so much stronger than she was. But I was panicking, already terrified and overwhelmed by everything--my mutation, the carny, my being _sold_. I ran. And ran. And ran. I know that this Essex person pursued me. I even know that Daddy helped him." She was quiet for a moment. "Daddy _helped_ him." She shook her head slowly. "No. No more of that. I avoided Essex, avoided all pursuit. I'm sure I'm not a target any more. I just _know_. And that's all there is to my life these past four years." She looked at Frank. "And now, you have something to tell me? Something that won't make me 'forgive', but will help me to 'understand'? I'm all ears, Frank. Tell me, by all means!"

Frank listened to this speech quietly. "Maria--as I said, _I_ wouldn't forgive if it had been me. I've spent four years in hell. I've made abortive attempts to look for you--but how was I even to start? And I had classes, and my career... I've been stymied by just about everything. But I did cut off all contact with Mom and Dad. I got everything out of him-and I wasn't gentle about it, either. But I just cut them off, cut it all out like a cancer." He licked his lips. "And that's part of my news-- Maria. Mom and Dad are both dead."

Maria heard this, than suddenly had a convulsion. She found herself in Frank's arms, again emotionally pouring out everything the last four years--the last seventeen years, her whole life--had bottled up inside of her. "How?" she finally asked.

"Dad died of cancer two years ago," Frank said. "It was lung cancer--you know how he always smoked. I don't know too many details, but apparently it wasn't an easy death, even for a cancer victim. He had money problems, and refused to come to me for help. Or anything else." Frank paused briefly. "I only learned of it towards the very end, when one of his doctors disobeyed him and called me. I went to see him, but he was in very great pain, and we didn't have much to say to each other. He died very soon afterwards."

"And Mom?" asked Maria. "Where was she?"

"In an institution," he answered bluntly. "After her attack on you and your disappearance, she broke down totally and had to be put away." He licked his lips. "She didn't even know Dad was dead. I mean, they told her--but she just shrugged it off, as if it wasn't real, or didn't matter. She was in a world of her own."

"So what happened to her?" Maria asked.

"A few months ago," Frank said. "Maria-"

"Yes?" she asked, hardly breathing.

"She committed suicide," Frank said. "She got hold of a pair of scissors from somewhere. A sink-"

Maria sagged against the tree. "I see. Did she have any last words? Anything she wanted to tell the world? Or even me? Anything?"

"--No," Frank said slowly. Maria picked up his hesitation.

"What is it?" she asked him urgently. "Frank? What is it you're trying to tell me?"

He stared at the ground. "Kid--this is why I've been trying to reach you. This is why I've been so frantic-- You have to know. They did an autopsy. There had been--incidents--at the hospital. Nobody was sure. But some people suspected..."

"Suspected what?" Maria asked, beginning to get flustered. "Frank--what are you trying to tell me?"

He looked her straight in the eyes. "Maria," he said, "Mom was a mutant, too. Just like you."

* * *

Charles Xavier continued watching the grid of northern Pennsylvania. Cerebro would let him know if Mastermind, or anyone else, returned to the area. The unknown mutant was heading west. The X-Men were generally bearing north, and Warren was flying far north, up by the New York border. Jean remained in Williamsport. He sighed. He had made a conscious decision not to follow their progress mentally, unless in case of emergency. They would be graduating soon. He hoped that Scott would remain with the team, and be its field leader. He hoped he could convince the boy to stay, and not leave the team and seek treatment for his eyes, as he had indicated he might. There was so much potential there... And not just as an X-Man. Charles smiled to himself. He wasn't blind. The way Scott and Jean looked at each other, when they thought the other wasn't looking. Well, if they didn't notice, he certainly did.

He knew his own feelings for the girl were hopeless. He was almost--not quite--old enough to be her father. And he was familiar enough with psychology to know that this was one of the most basic of syndromes--the Professor and his student. He shook his head sadly. He thought of Moira, and Gabby, and Amelia. Beautiful women, all of them. But Jean was going to be different. Jean seemed to him almost Love personified, Femininity personified. He looked into his mind. Was that romanticizing the girl? Was he behaving in fact like a Romantic poet, thinking of her as his Anima? No, he thought after a moment. No, Jean _was_ different. Her capacity for love might be her true mutant power. And Scott--he had so much love inside of him. He didn't realize it, would have been mortified if he had an inkling of what Charles thought concerning him. But it was there--and Jean of course knew this, sensed it so completely with that terrible sincerity of youth.

Charles laughed to himself. He realized that his feelings for Jean were entirely Platonic. But they were none the weaker for that. She was special. And he had such strong intimations regarding her sometimes...he didn't know what they meant, or even if they had any real significance. But he felt deep in his soul that somehow, in some way, Jean had some extraordinary destiny. And perhaps, that the school, the X-Men, his role--all of it--was merely the means with which she'd fulfill that destiny. Meanwhile, though, here was another mutant who needed help.

_What was that?_

My God, a psychic scream of pain, so intense-- Yes, it derived from the Williamsport area. What was it? He sensed Jean's thoughts, her confusion and agitation. No--she wasn't the source of the scream. But it had affected her. _My God...it's triggered her own psychic powers._ Charles attempted to contact her at once.

* * *

Jean Grey sat in the motel room, bored, a bit resentful to be sitting here doing nothing while the boys were out having God knows what adventures. She was going over every word Scott said concerning their plans--partly because she wanted to be prepared in case something came her way, but mostly, she acknowledged to herself, because she simply liked thinking about him and pondering what he said and did. Was there _anything_ in what he had said to her that might indicate he liked her--as she wanted him to? She went over and over his words, but couldn't make up her mind.

It was in the middle of this pleasant occupation that it happened. Something hit her mind like a bomb--a terrible cry of pain and despair. Jean felt staggered. The psychic cry just went on and on, and she was unable to filter it out--it just washed over her, and she was helpless to do anything but endure it.

 _Annie Richardson._ Suddenly, the moment of her friend's death was with her. She had tried her best to overcome the trauma of that experience, to integrate it and live her life. But this terrible psychic call out of the wilderness--this was comparable in power to that. It was the call of a soul in agony.

_Jean!_

It was the Professor, calling from Westchester. So he had heard it too--! _Are you all right?_

She paused. _Was_ she all right? That awful psychic scream was still there, but now a little less intense, and she was able to focus on herself, her reactions. _I think so, sir,_ she replied. _But that horrible cry--! You heard it?_

_I did, Jean. It came from our quarry. I know that much. Whoever he is, he's in terrible pain and trauma. We must reach him as soon as possible. Wait there until the others get back, and you'll all go and find this poor mutant. I think I know where he is--west of you, about fifteen miles._

Jean thought. _No. No, Professor. I don't think we should waste a moment. I can get there with my telekinesis well before any of the other X-Men can arrive._ She paused for a moment. _Professor? I have a feeling that this is important--that I should be doing this. Please--trust my judgment. I'm begging you._

There was a pause. Then: _Very well, Jean. If you feel this strongly about it, it shall be as you say. But I'll be with you psychically--_

 _No,_ she thought again. _Professor--I believe I need to be totally alone here. I'm not sure why, but I just do. Be open for a psychic contact if I need you. But somehow, I'm sure I won't. Professor--I know this sounds strange, but I'm certain I'm right._

There was a longer pause this time, while Jean was changing into her uniform. _Very well, Jean. I don't entirely understand this, and I think there might be danger. But I've trained you all to face danger. And it's time, too, that I trusted your intuition. It shall be as you say._

 _Thank you, Professor!_ Jean called out to him. She was already at the door of the motel room, racing out into the afternoon. She didn't care who saw her. She levitated herself over some houses, heading due west towards the forest, wondering as she went if she'd create another "Hulk" sighting.

She didn't need directions. She wasn't getting any more psychic cries--that episode apparently was over, much to her relief. But she _knew_ where it had originated from. She knew where to go, as much as she'd know where the sun was on a bright day if her eyes were shut. And she knew some other things, too--things she hadn't told the Professor. She knew the mutant they were searching for was a girl. She knew that this girl was scared, lonely, miserably unhappy, though she put up a tough facade. And she knew that this girl's whole life was on a razor's edge, right now. Jean tried to get more speed into her telekinetic travel, as she entered the woods.

* * *

Charles Xavier looked sad. Jean Grey had just become an adult. She had seized the initiative on her own, overruled him, and taken responsibility in an emergency. He let out a slow breath. This was what he had trained her for, what he had trained them all for. But there was a sadness within him all the same. She might not realize it for some time, but she was no longer a student. Not in the way she had been. And that, ultimately, was more important than anything else that might occur this day. He kept his mind open for her call, as he promised, but did not follow her progress towards the mutant.

Well--there was still much to do. _Scott?_ he called out mentally to his first student. _The mutant we're searching for has been located..._

* * *

Maria just looked at her brother. "Huh?" she asked stupidly.

Frank just nodded slightly, looking very sad. "It's true, kid. No doubt about it. Mom was a mutant. Don't you see how much this explains?"

How much it explained. Maria almost laughed. By God... Of course. "And while I was growing up--while we were _both_ growing up--she must have been wondering every second..."

Frank nodded. "Sure. Whether we were, too. I got through all right--I'm stubbornly, solidly human, kid. But I think she was worried about you from the start. And then you turned thirteen--and, well..."

"And I turned into what I am, you mean." He just nodded. "Yeah. Every fear, every guilt Mom ever had suddenly came true in the form of me. She must have felt herself in hell."

"Which maybe explains why she reacted as she did," Frank said. "Her hysteria, her exaggerated religious symbolism. Mom was always a devout Catholic. Being a mutant must have been nightmare enough for her. But to have given birth to one..."

"Mom must have felt that God was giving her the double-whammy. Piling it on," Maria said softly. "No wonder she went over the edge. And no wonder she always felt so robotic around me. She knew right away that you weren't a mutant, and that I was. " Maria stared off into the distance. "She must have felt as if she were already damned in life."

Frank gently took Maria's hand--as much as he could, in any event. "As you say, Maria--it drove her over the edge. Your mutation. And--well--"

She laughed. "Well! I look enough like something crawled out of hell, don't I?"

Frank smiled wryly. "Well, as long as you mention it..." The two of them laughed heartily-like brother and sister, in fact. Maria suddenly frowned.

"Wait a minute. You said there were 'incidents' at the hospital? What sort of incidents? Do they know what her mutation actually was?"

Frank looked embarrassed. "Oh, yeah... Well, kid, the long and short of it was that things would just sort of disappear when Mom was around. And show up later. Sometimes returned to where they had been before. And sometimes--not."

" 'Disappear'?" Maria asked. "What do you mean, disappear?"

"What I said," Frank replied. "It started with little things--gloves, pencils, cups of water...they'd vanish, and then show up later. That could be chalked up to absent-mindedness on the part of the patients--it _was_ a mental hospital, after all. But then it got more involved--pillows, books, TV sets... No one knew what was happening. They thought someone there was a kleptomaniac. Finally, a piano vanished from the common room and appeared three days later in the middle of the kitchen. Mom always seemed to be around when this happened, so they were suspicious of her--though they had no idea of just what it was they were suspicious _of!_ In any event, they had police and all sorts of people around--and that's when Mom died. When she..."

"Yeah," Maria said. "I think she felt that they were about to expose her as a mutant."

"That's the general feeling," Frank said. "I agree."

"But what happened to those things?" Maria asked. "What exactly _was_ her power?"

"Well, it was tough to find an expert," Frank said with a smile. "But finally, one of the hospital administrators contacted an old colleague of his--a Stephen Strange, who's retired from practice. But he seemed to have some sort of insight into this kind of thing-- Anyway, he came to the hospital, and looked around, and he finally said that this was a scientific matter, and not a mystic one. For whatever that's worth! Anyway, to make a long story short, he said that Mom had the mutant ability to send things off into some sort of pocket universe of her own, and return them."

Maria suddenly had a vague memory from when she was very young--a dark, enclosed place--a feeling of total isolation--of crying for her mother, begging to be "brought back"--

"Oh, my God!" she cried. "Frank--Mom--"

He smiled at her. "You, too?"

"Oh, no!" She looked at him. "Oh, Frank--! You, too! How--how _could_ she! Both of us! What if she had left us there?" Maria suddenly started to cry again, the feeling of abandonment stronger than ever. This, though! This was the ultimate abandonment. That her mother was capable of doing this to them--for even one second--

She felt her brother's arms around her. "It's OK, Maria. I mean it. It's OK. We have to try to understand her, what she was, what she did. Science and religion both took direct aim at Mom, and both hit her in the heart. She fell beneath the blows."

Maria stopped crying. "I guess so," she said after a moment. "Frank--I need to digest all this. I do. But you have to get out of here. It's dangerous for you."

"To hell with that--"

She broke him off, put her hand close to his lips. "No, Frank. No. Frank--I feel more alive right now than I have in many years. You've done so much for me, this past hour or so-- But it will have to be enough for now, OK? I _do_ need time to digest. And you _are_ in danger now. Just yesterday, Magneto's Brotherhood of Mutants made an attempt to corral me. They might try again at any moment. And that will mean that the X-Men are on my trail as well. It's just too dangerous to be around me right now. You're just too much of an innocent bystander."

Frank frowned. "Maria--I'm not going to lose you again, when I've just found you."

"And you won't lose me," she said, smiling. "Frank--I promise you that. But the next move has to be up to me. I'll be in touch one of these days. I won't forget you. I promise. But you have to listen to me right now. I can't be worrying about you if the Brotherhood is around, scouting for me." She paused. "Frank--I know you care about me, and mean well. But believe me when I tell you, you can't really understand what I am now. What being a mutant is. I do. And I have to be able to deal with this in my own way."

He stared at her for a long time. "Promise me you'll be in touch, kid?" he asked finally, love and warmth in his words.

"Of course."

He stared at her for another moment, then kissed her forehead. "OK, Maria. That'll do for now. I know you hate long farewells--so do I. Be well. I love you."

"I love you, Frank," she said, and he nodded and turned, heading down the hillside towards his car. She watched him get in and turn around, heading in the direction he came. She shut her eyes. What was she feeling right now? She didn't know. Would she ever? Did she want to cry, and if so, what kind of tears? And just what did she do now? Where could she go? How did she avoid the Brotherhood _and_ the X-Men?

She thought furiously. When it came right down to it, while this had been an emotional catharsis, she was still back where she had been. It seemed to her that nothing could be the same after seeing Frank, and hearing what he had told her. And yet, things basically _were_ the same. Mom-- No. This wasn't the time to think of that. That could come later. _My God! It had been so dark there. The ultimate playpen. Maybe that was how she regarded it? Maybe it was no big deal. Just a convenience._

"No big deal," Maria said to herself out loud. "No big deal." She laughed, and the laughter had an edge of hysteria to it. _Mom. I have to think of everything differently now._

Well, what did she do now? Still head on towards the state forest? She guessed so. But still--s _omething_ should be different now in her life...

What was that? She turned around suddenly, looking east, the direction she had come from. There was something there! Feeling a pang of dismay, she started to run down towards the road when she heard a voice call out: "Please! Don't run! I mean you no harm!"

Maria stopped in her tracks. She had been caught. She knew instantly it was a mutant. Brotherhood or X-Men, did it matter? It had been a feminine voice--did that mean--?

Yes. Coming out of a thicket of evergreens came a girl dressed in an X-Men costume, red-haired and wearing a mask. She looked at Maria and froze.

"Hi," Maria said, smiling fiercely. "You're Marvel Girl, right?" She put out her hand. "Pleased to meet you."


	3. A Bond is Formed

Jean sped through the woods, nearing the source of that terrible psychic cry. She had to temper her speed at times in the thick woods, but she thought she was making good progress. Up ahead, the hill seemed to slope down--yes, there was definitely a small gorge up there. And another hill beyond.

She made her way past a grove of birch trees, and saw a clearing up ahead. Yes, this was the place... And there! Jean saw some movement ahead--yes, definitely a figure. Starting to move down the hill. Jean let herself down, and ran towards the clearing.

"Please!" she called out. "Don't run! I mean you no harm!" She saw the figure pause, and stop. Slowly, as Jean approached, the figure turned and faced her. It took a step towards her, and reached out a hand. Jean froze, and heard herself gasp.

"Hi. You're Marvel Girl, right?" a voice emerging from the figure said. "Pleased to meet you."

Jean Grey saw a tall shape that she instinctively realized was feminine. She--it--no, "she"!--was impossible to describe, because she was constantly shifting. When Jean first saw her, she appeared to be made of dark sand, or perhaps grainy dirt. But even as she watched, the figure seemed to switch forms, to take on the appearance of the birch trees nearby and looked like she had a white trunk, with two branches sticking out of her upper body and twigs for fingers. She then appeared to be made of water, and then salt, then diamond, then she looked like molten steel, then she appeared as, of all things, Frankenstein's monster, then even as a tall, brick-skinned female version of the Thing. And always, as this process went on, her right hand remained outstretched, as if waiting for Jean to take hold of it. She was dressed in simple rags, little more than a loin cloth and a makeshift bikini top. And on her face-what could be described as a "face"--there was something terrible, something that Jean thought might be a smile, but couldn't be sure of. That face--! It was a horror, in all of the young mutant's incarnations--it took on the characteristics of each of her forms, but the features seemed to be melting each time she shifted, and put back on without time for them to "dry". There was an almost cartoonish quality to her face, in all the changes Jean saw, that reminded her almost of a harlequin mask--with that same, awful "smile" painted on every one of them.

"What's the matter, Marvel Girl?" the figure said, in a voice that sounded similar in all of the permutations-similar, but not identical. It wasn't a loud voice, but it _carried_ \--Jean felt that that voice would reach her innermost soul, would follow her to heaven or hell. Sometimes it sounded almost "liquid", when the figure took on the form of water, or even trees or other fauna--a voice that Jean realized was in some sense "natural", of the earth, and spoke of fertility and nurturing. Other times, when she took the form of earth or steel or concrete, the voice, while still carrying, while still somehow the same voice, sounded harsher, unsentimental--"surgical", was the word that came to Jean's mind. Looking at this girl, at the shifting forms and that voice, she realized in an instant that this mutant was as formidable as Magneto in her way...and as full of love and compassion as Jean herself, though she would not have put it exactly like that. But the fact was what mattered, and Jean instantly felt a wave of love for this girl that she couldn't explain, but knew instinctively, like she knew her own name and identity.

Jean stepped forward and took the hand. The figure had stopped shifting, and had stabilized into the shape she had first appeared as: looking like dark sand or grainy dirt, her face incomplete with that "melting" quality, unable to quite get into focus except for a brilliant pair of hazel eyes. Jean found herself lost in those eyes--they were eyes that missed nothing, that saw right into your soul. Jean wondered what judgments they were making about her, and realized that that question was an important one to her.

"Yes," she said. "I'm Marvel Girl. And I'm proud to know you." She suddenly found herself taking this figure into her arms, because she couldn't think of a reason on earth not to. The mutant's hands had been rough, like sandpaper. Jean looked into her amazing eyes. "This--this is your natural form, isn't it?"

* * *

"What's the matter, Marvel Girl?" Maria had asked, as she was Shifting. It had been a long time since she Shifted this like this, into so many different forms so quickly. She felt like she was ruffling a deck of cards. She almost laughed out loud. This beautiful red-haired girl--! Well, she--they--had wanted to meet her! And here was their chance! Maria stopped Shifting, and Marvel Girl came forward to take her hand. "Yes," she said. "I'm Marvel Girl. And I'm proud to know you." The other girl suddenly came up to her, and to Maria's astonishment took her in her arms. Marvel Girl looked right into her eyes, and Maria gave a mental gasp. Those eyes! Bright green, like jewels. Maria had never seen eyes like that. They looked steadily at her, with total honesty and no revulsion, not even a hint of Torches and Pitchforks. Well, from a fellow mutant, perhaps that wasn't so surprising. But what Maria also understood in that instant was that this girl had no desire whatever to _use_ her. She remembered her father, Essex, even the carny and Gunther and Carmella...the Brotherhood...

Maria suddenly found herself hoping. _Stop it, dammit! Just stop! You know this does you no good!_ But her mental protests were useless, because there it was. Looking at this girl, Maria instantly felt a rush of something she realized was--well--"love". OK, she had said it to herself. Dopey. Unworthy of someone as tough, as street-smart, as she was. Making herself vulnerable. Soft. Setting herself up. _Mom. Daddy. Essex. Magneto. All the Torches and Pitchforks. Cut it out, Gianelli. You know this can't have any good ending._

"This--this is your natural form, isn't it?" Marvel Girl asked, and Maria shook her head briskly.

"Not necessarily," she answered. Suddenly, she appeared as a figure of ice, the same mocking smile on her face. "Maybe this is, Marvel Girl. How's _that_ for a coincidence?"

The other girl paused for a second. "You can't keep any of these forms for very long, can you? Eventually, you'll revert back to your 'real' self."

Maria grunted, and Shifted back to her natural form. "That's good. That's very good. So I wasn't convincing as Ice Girl?"

"Not very," Marvel Girl answered. "It would have been too much of a coincidence. Though Bo--I mean, Iceman, would have been delighted. No. I can just _tell_ that this is you." She paused for a second. "I sensed such pain from you earlier--you're all right?"

 _Damn Frank. His showing up--making me react like that--_ Maria shut her eyes, brushed her sandpaper-like "hair" with a rough hand. _Damn him for giving me hope. I_ _like_ _this girl. How much longer can this go on, without me surrendering one way or another?_ She looked into those green eyes, and for a brief instant Maria Gianelli was frightened. There had been-- _something--_ she had seen there, something more-than-human...indeed, more-than-mutant. Instinctively, Maria realized--though she didn't know _how_ she knew this--that this Marvel Girl bore burdens that dwarfed hers. Or at least, that she potentially did. In that instant, Maria felt herself yielding even more. _This poor kid. She's going to need help someday._

All she said aloud was, "I'm all right. I don't need any help."

Marvel Girl put her hand on Maria's shoulder. "We all need help. All of us, without exception. Please--you can reject me, reject us, if that's your free choice. We won't force ourselves upon you. But what I sensed in that moment of communion I had, when you called out--all the loneliness and despair--is that what you really want?"

Maria looked off into space, into infinity. That was a good question, actually. What _did_ she want? If she rejected this girl, all that she offered--and Maria understood already that if she accepted this offer to go with the X-Men, she and this Marvel Girl would become intimate, would bond tightly together. Both of them felt it, this turning point in their lives. Maria realized that she couldn't fake this, that she had to be absolutely honest with herself and with this girl. She might not accept, but she could not lie.

* * *

Jean could tell that something had changed in this girl, that her hostility had vanished for some reason. That made Jean warier than ever--but also, paradoxically, less wary too, afraid that she might do or say the wrong thing, but also realizing that only total transparency and honesty could help her now. She found herself removing her mask.

"My name is Jean Grey," she said when her face was bared to the other girl. "And I'm so happy to know you."

The other girl looked at Jean steadily with those amazing hazel eyes. "Hello, Jean Grey," she said. "My name is Maria Gianelli." And she held out her hand again, not sarcastically this time, but in--if not yet friendship--at least in something Jean realized was hope. Jean grabbed her hand in both of hers, and tried to put as much warmth and love as she could into the gesture.

"Maria," Jean said. "A beautiful name. Maria--I don't know if you'll join the X-Men. Right now, I don't care. But I do know that whatever happens, I'll always be here for you. You can _always_ turn to me. Even if the whole world is against you."

She saw something appear underneath the eyes on that ravaged, grainy face that if Jean didn't know better might have interpreted as tears. "I believe you, Jean Grey," Maria said. "You know I do, don't you?"

"Yes," Jean said. "I knew you would from the moment I heard you call, from out here in the wilderness. And I knew in that moment that I loved you. I knew just how much love you have to give. Underneath all the pain and despair--and there's been so much of that, hasn't there?"

* * *

It was too much for Maria. Everything--her early life, her mutation at thirteen, her betrayal by her parents, her nearly being sold into slavery, the years of roaming the earth as a monster, and now in sudden succession Frank and Jean Grey--it was too much. She found herself sitting on the ground, sobbing uncontrollably. She sensed rather than felt, or heard, the other girl's arms around her, her beautiful voice--alto, a bit raspy but so totally _hers_ \--calling out, saying things that Maria couldn't afterwards remember, but having their effect nonetheless. Finally, Maria put her hand out to Jean's.

"I'm OK," she said. "No, Jean, really--I'm OK." And indeed, Maria stood up and looked again right into the eyes of the other girl. "I am a morph. That is my mutant power. I do not regard my physiognomy as a 'power'--it is simply my appearance, and the things I can do in this form are simply part of me, like my arms and legs. In this state, I am composed mostly of silicon. There is of course enough carbon in this state--and in all of them--for my life to be possible. As far as I know, I can morph into basically anything I want. I have no idea whatever how this is possible, but then, I doubt that few mutants--if any--have any idea how their powers work." She paused, and looked at a stone about twenty feet away. She reached out with her grainy arm, and extended it until it reached the stone. Maria pulled it back to her. "I should say this stone weighs about five pounds." She extended her hand around it, and slowly squeezed. The stone was reduced quickly to powder, and Maria let it seep slowly out of her hand. "In this state, I am exceptionally strong. How strong, I don't really know. I've never had much call to use my powers the way you people do--that is, in combat. And I deliberately go out of my way to avoid showing off my strength--I just use it if I need to, and as little as possible then."

Jean had listened quietly to this speech, nodding slightly. "Do you retain your shape-changing powers, and your strength, when you change conditions?"

Maria nodded. "I call it Shifting--with a capital 'S'. And it depends. I can shape-shift in my fluid conditions--for instance, water. But in that state, I have no super-strength. I cannot shape-shift when I am in my 'hard' states--like diamond, for instance. I could not reach out to that stone as I just did. But I am exceptionally strong in that state--just how much so, I have no idea. I have avoided trying to find out." She paused slightly. "The fact is, I'm afraid to find out. I do not want to be too powerful. I am afraid that if I were as powerful as I suspect I am, that would make me so overwhelmingly valuable to some faction or other that I couldn't keep out of the whole business any longer."

Jean nodded, as if the logic of this were obvious. "If you do decide to join us, the Professor will make tests to find the limits of your powers. There'd be no more hiding your head in the sand--if you'll excuse the expression." Maria laughed out loud. Jean smiled, and went on. "Maria--I've found that the truth is the only thing that will help us. You may or may not join us. But I do know one thing--you will no longer be able to avoid the truth. I think you've known this, suspected it, for a long time now. That you've been putting off the day when you have to face the truth."

Maria flinched. Well, this was honesty. She had committed herself to it. And she was hearing it from Jean. From this girl whom she already loved like the sister she had never had. And in realizing that, she realized everything.

"Jean," she said, framing her hands around Jean's face--that beautiful face, those green eyes--Maria was losing herself in those eyes. Jean looked up into Maria's own eyes. "Jean--this 'Professor' of yours. You trust him?"

"Implicitly," Jean answered. "With my life. I have done so, many times. As have all of us."

Maria nodded. "And the others? You trust all of them too?"

Jean nodded, but Maria noticed the slightest flush come into the other girl's face. _Well, well. How interesting. I'll have to find out which one of them it is._ "Of course, Maria. We depend upon each other totally. We have become a team, and as such, call upon each other. We trust each other completely."

"And what is it the X-Men stand for, Jean?"

* * *

Jean considered this. She could tell her what Professor Xavier said, of working towards a world in which human and mutant could live together in peace. And she knew that Maria would respect this. But somehow, Jean also knew that that wasn't exactly what this girl wanted to hear from her. Her answer came out of her without conscious thought.

"We stand for each other, Maria," she said. "We have been soldiers in a harsh world--and soldiers, while they might have an ideology, don't fight for that. They fight for their friends and loved ones, at bottom, or they don't fight at all. And that is what we stand for, Maria Gianelli."

Maria took Jean's hands in hers. "That is a good answer, Jean Grey. There is no bullshit in it. And that is what I want. To stand with others, who will stand with me. Unconditionally. If you and your Professor will take me, I am ready to stand with you."

Jean looked into Maria's hazel eyes, those eyes she was already learning to swim in, those eyes that highlighted that strange face that wasn't a face, and she hugged the other girl and burst into tears. She could hear Maria crying as well, in that gravelly voice of hers.

* * *

Charles Xavier had reached the other X-Men, and they were on the way. But he felt that the crisis had passed by now, though why he felt this he couldn't be certain. Perhaps it was a residue from Jean's mind, though he was holding to his promise not to follow her psychically. He almost felt himself beginning to relax.

He looked at the grid. The Angel would arrive first, with the other three following not long afterwards. He could tell just from the grid that Jean and the mutant they were chasing had been in the same spot for some little while now. That was a good sign--at least they were talking. He began, ever so cautiously, to hope.

At that moment, Cerebro went berserk. A shrill cry emerged from it, and Charles looked with a start at the new figure on the grid, heading right for where Jean and the new mutant were. And he saw from the identification software just whom this intruder was-- _My God._

Forgetting his promise to Jean, forgetting everything, he emitted a sudden terrible clarion call with his mind. _Jean! Jean! You're in danger! You must flee at once!_

But it was too late. This new figure on the grid had already reached the spot, moving at a speed even the Angel couldn't match. Charles Xavier felt a sick pang of fear.

* * *

Jean gave Maria a crooked smile. "Well--I guess I say, 'welcome to the X-Men'. OK. Welcome to the X-Men!"

Maria hugged her again. At that moment, every fear she had ever had seemed washed away like the sand at high tide. Was this what "happiness" felt like? Well--who knew? She could get used to this.

"I'm honored. Thank you."

They looked at each other and suddenly giggled like schoolgirls-which of course they were, Maria thought with a sense of absurdity. _Me. A real student. I can't believe it._ She sensed the decision that she was about to make, and felt astonishment. Was she really going to do this? This, the deepest secret of all? Yes, she damned well was. It was amazing, this sudden shedding of every fear she had spent the past four years accumulating. Maybe this was what making a commitment felt like. Well, it felt damned good.

"Jean."

"Yes, Maria," Jean answered, suddenly alert.

"There's something I want you to know. But only you. None of the other X-Men, not your Professor, no one. Just you and me."

Jean took her hand. "Absolutely."

"Won't the Professor sense it in your mind? Will you be able to shield it?"

"If you can, I can. Yes. I can. I will. He'll respect this."

Maria shut her eyes. _Well, here we go._ She stepped back a few feet from Jean, turned around and removed her ragged clothes. Jean saw her go into another Shift--

"Oh!" she gasped. Her eyes flew open, with her hands at her mouth. "Oh my God!" Standing before her suddenly, arms raised above her head, was a young goddess. A good six feet tall, long, flowing black hair--so black it looked blue--a voluptuous figure. A face of exceptional classic Mediterranean beauty, capped with those amazing hazel eyes. She looked at Jean with a totally open smile.

"This is my deepest secret, Jean Grey," the goddess before her said in a voice that pained Jean, it was so clear and beautiful. "No one on earth knows this but me--and now, you. Not even my brother. This is whom I might have been. But it is not who I am."

"Oh, Maria!" Jean cried out, rushing forward to embrace this beauty, this vision. "Oh, my God!"

"God must have a sense of humor," Maria said, feeling this other girl's arms around her, sensing her love and compassion, this other girl with her own astonishing beauty whom Maria already loved.

Jean looked at her with tears in her eyes. "And you can't--?"

"Sustain my shape?" Maria asked gently. Jean just nodded.

"No," Maria said, shaking her head. "Jean--this is just another Shifting. I can maintain myself like this for a few minutes. About once a week. Or for a few seconds, now and again, every day. But that's all. No." She turned around again, put her clothes back on and resumed her regular appearance. "No, Jean," she said, the voice back to "normal" with its gravelly sound. "This is the real me. And I accept it. No, really--I do. That other me--she's just a dream. And very occasionally I'll visit that dream. But not often. Why torture myself?"

"You're so beautiful," Jean said.

"A few minutes at a time," Maria answered.

"No," Jean said. "All the time. You're the most beautiful person I've ever known."

Maria said nothing in reply, simply held out her hand, and Jean took it. They said nothing for awhile, just stood there in silent communion. Maria finally broke the silence.

"It will be our secret." Jean nodded, and they sealed the secret with their eyes.

_Jean!_

A sudden psychic cry came to her from the Professor. It was a warning of danger--imminent--

"Jean!" Maria cried out. "What is it?"

A new voice came to her ears, over to her left. "I believe she's being warned about me, my dear." Maria turned her head, and gasped.

Magneto stood there, arms crossed. "I sent two boys to do a man's job," he said almost off-handedly. "I do not tolerate failure. Now, I've come to do the job right. Will you come with me, like a sensible girl? Or shall I have to--as the Americans say--get tough about it?"

* * *

Jean gasped. Magneto! Appearing out of nowhere! And she was alone, without her fellow X-Men. No--not quite alone--

Magneto walked up to her. "Well, well, Marvel Girl," he said quietly. "So this is what you look like without your mask." He studied her features intently. "Yes--you _are_ beautiful. As much as I have always imagined. What a pity you have chosen destruction with your fellow race-traitors." He turned to Maria, who hadn't moved a muscle since he appeared. "And you, Maria Gianelli? Do you intend to wear a mask, should you join the X-Men?"

She stirred. "You know my name?"

"There is nothing about mutants I do not know," he said quietly. "Oh yes, I know your name, Maria. And I've come to offer you something that Xavier and his crew could never do. Your true identity, open and unashamed." Maria seemed to respond when Magneto mentioned the Professor, but Jean couldn't be sure of it. She tried to move, to react, but found that she couldn't. She panicked. What was the matter? Why was she paralyzed?

"There is no point in struggling, Marvel Girl," Magneto said. "I am controlling the iron in your blood. You shall move when I permit you to." He turned to Maria. "And you, my dear--the same is true of the silicon in _your_ system. You cannot move." He sighed, and looked to the skies. "This situation shall not prevail for long. I have no doubt but that Charles is in mental contact with Marvel Girl, and marshalling her fellow X-Men to come to her aid. The winged one will probably arrive first, for all the good it would do you two... Anyway." He seemed to come out of a reverie. "Maria, whatever my faults, I do not lie. I offer you a chance to be you. To show the world the pride we mutants take in ourselves. To show them that we do not recognize any standards but our own. That we make our own rules. You can stand straight and tall as one of the Brotherhood. Not hide yourself away, as Xavier's spoiled American children do, behind masks and 'secret identities'. The Brotherhood does not believe we have anything to be ashamed of in our identities as mutants.

"Consider, Maria! The X-Men all look 'human'. Will they truly let you become one of them? When they go out among the world in their 'normal' identities--will they let you join them? Or will they keep you a virtual prisoner in Charles' Mansion, the mutant equivalent of the Madwoman in the Attic? It does not have to be that way, Maria. You could demand the respect of the world. You could _take_ the respect of the world. And we would, all of us, be with you every step of the way."

* * *

Maria listened to Magneto's words. She knew that had he arrived a few hours earlier, she might have been tempted. If, as seemed likely now, her isolation from mutant affairs had reached its natural end, perhaps she would have listened to this man. Part of her appreciated what he was doing. It was an arresting performance. Indeed, Milton's Satan could hardly have done better. Nothing he actually said was wrong in and of itself. The only problem was that it stank. Everything he said, did, stank in Maria's nostrils like rotten fish. And she had had enough of that in her life.

He seemed to be expecting a reply, and she found she could move a little, use her vocal chords. So she just looked at him and said, "I've given my word to the X-Men."

He didn't react for some time, and finally he sighed. "Too bad. I could continue to press my case--but it would be to no avail. You do not change your mind when it is made up, Maria. Well, that is too bad." He turned to Jean. "You do realize, my dear, that I can't permit either of you to live? There is nothing personal here, I assure you. You _are_ beautiful. And I sense such potential in you--indeed, I sense things I do not fully understand." He seemed genuinely distraught now, much to Maria's surprise. "Cutting that off--it is not something I want to do. I certainly am not doing it lightly. But I can't have either of you as enemies. You're both too formidable. And this _is_ war." He turned to Jean and raised his hands as if to make a gesture. "I do promise you, though, that it will be quick."

"You said it." Maria struck out at Magneto with a concentrated blast of water. Her Shifting out of her natural silicon state had been easy, indeed as effortless as it always was. And in this state, of course, there was no metal in her system for him to grab hold of. Taking up her advantage, Maria suddenly became diamond hard and advanced upon the man sputtering on the ground in front of her, spitting water out of his mouth.

Maria threw a hard diamond fist at his head, a gesture meant to immobilize but not to seriously injure. But all she hit was some sort of energy field. Magneto slowly got to his feet, glaring at Maria.

"This is a force field, Miss Gianelli," he said, his voice now harsh and rasping. "I do not believe that you can break through it. But I have no particular desire to stand here and watch you try. Not with the others about to arrive. This battle is therefore pointless." He glared at Jean. "Very well, Marvel Girl. You live awhile longer. But know this--I shall not forget this humiliation." He then turned that malevolent stare, which Maria could feel emanating from the little of his face she could make out beneath his helmet, towards her. "And you, Maria Gianelli. Go with these X-Men of yours. See how you like it when they live their lives, and you do not. When you are still as much a prisoner as you have been, these past years. You will see how Charles Xavier treats tools--which is all you will be to him."

He gathered himself. "I said that I do not tolerate failure--yet I have failed. I underestimated you, girl. That I shall never do again. I assure you, I shall have a very special fate in store for you. A very special fate indeed." And with that, he was gone, an ever-decreasing dot heading south.

There was a dead silence between the two girls. They looked at each other--and suddenly broke out into laughter, wave after wave overcoming them as they melted into each other's arms. Maria returned to her natural form, and hugged the red-haired girl until she thought her heart would break with sheer joy. For her part, Jean felt that she had found something, some missing part of herself, in this fascinatingly ugly yet supremely beautiful girl. They finally parted, and looked each other in their remarkable eyes.

"I think I'm going to like being an X-Man," Maria said.

"Were you tempted at all?" Jean asked. "By what he said?"

"I might have been, if this happened yesterday," Maria answered. "But after all--I _had_ given my word. Besides--his mention of the Madwoman in the Attic. What the hell. I've always loved _Jane Eyre_." And Maria and Jean giggled like schoolgirls again.

* * *

Charles Xavier had been out of touch with everything that had been going on, ever since he sent Jean that terrible mental warning. Something was blocking her mind to him-! He tried to break through, but it was no use. Meanwhile, the other four X-Men were rapidly closing in on the spot where Magneto was encountering Jean and the other mutant...but would that be of any use?

Suddenly--and to his overwhelming relief--Cerebro's grid showed Magneto moving rapidly south. Something had happened! He had been stymied, somehow. He looked. The Angel was almost upon the other two mutants, and the others were right on his heels. He tried to reach Jean again.

 _Yes, Professor, I'm here._ Charles found himself breathing again.

 _You're all right, Jean?_ he asked, and he sensed joy, and wonder, and laughter in her mental response.

_I've never been better, Professor. Would you care to have a look at our newest X-Man?_

Charles shut his eyes. So Jean had done it! Not only confounded Magneto somehow, but succeeded in her mission--making contact with the unknown mutant, and actually recruiting him. His last doubts were gone. Jean _was_ an adult now--and a very formidable one. He felt a burst of sheer pride, that he could sense Jean receiving.

_My dear--you've justified all my faith in you. By all means, let me see him._

_'Her', Professor,_ Jean thought. _Not him. Let me introduce you._ Charles looked across the clearing through Jean's eyes. _Professor Xavier, this is Maria Gianelli. Maria--may I introduce you to the leader of the X-Men, Professor Charles Xavier._

Charles looked at Maria. He sensed immediately what her powers consisted of, and was staggered by the potential he saw. More so, he realized immediately as well something of what this girl had been through in her life these past few years. He felt a pang of pity and compassion. Her appearance-- Well, Charles had encountered mutants who did not look "human" before. This would present problems, and he wasn't going to pretend otherwise to himself. But he sensed the bond that had already grown between Jean and Maria, and he felt that the first step had already been taken. Once more, he felt gratified at what Jean Grey was becoming.

He sent a mental signal to Maria. _Maria, I am Charles Xavier. I am deeply grateful for the opportunity to meet you. Welcome to the X-Men._

Maria seemed hesitant at first, but Jean smiled at her encouragingly. "It's all right, Maria," she said. "Let him in. It will be all right." Maria let her hesitation drop away, and sent a mental reply to Charles.

_Professor. I've heard of you before._

_Indeed? How so, Maria?_

_My brother. He heard you lecture once at Bowdoin. He never forgot it. It made him realize right away what I was when I--well, changed._

_Excellent! Then I don't have to go into my whole schpiel with you._

_No, sir. Not all of it,_ Maria answered, a laugh bubbling through her thoughts. Charles smiled to himself.

 _We'll meet in person soon, Maria,_ Charles told her. _I believe the other X-Men are about to make their appearance._

* * *

Since the other X-Men remembered their first meetings with Maria Gianelli for the rest of their lives, it behooves us to chronicle these meetings in some depth. Warren Worthington III was first. He had been over sixty miles away when he received that terrible summons from Professor Xavier to go to the aid of Jean and the unknown mutant they were chasing. _Magneto!_ That was all Warren needed.

It took a very few minutes for him to reach the spot that the Professor had mentally indicated. To his immense relief, he saw no sign of Magneto. He saw Jean in the forest clearing with--what?

"Jean!" he cried, landing next to her. "Are you OK? Where's Magneto?"

"He's gone, Warren," Jean said. "Thanks to Maria." Warren turned his head, and saw a tall figure that he could recognize as female, if he focused. She seemed to be composed of fine powder or dirt, and had a strange sort of face that Warren found difficult to look at directly. But her eyes--hazel-colored and very bright--were easy enough to gaze into. He realized she was reaching out her hand to him.

"The Angel, right?" she said in a low, raspy, gravelly voice that still sounded rather lovely. "You're a pretty one, aren't you?" She turned to Jean. "You should have warned me, Jean. I'd have squinted. He's _dazzling!"_ And somewhat to his disconcertment, Jean and this grainy figure laughed together like life-long friends. Warren felt a sudden burst of jealousy. In a very different way from Scott, he knew that somehow, already, here was another rival for Jean's attention and affection. And then Warren realized just how absurd that sounded, and laughed out loud with the two girls.

"It _is_ rather overwhelming on first impression, isn't it?" he said, taking the rough hand and bringing it up to his lips. "I'm Warren Worthington the Third, by the way."

"The Third!" Maria said, turning to Jean. "Oh my. What on earth will the Fourth be like?"

Warren broke in. "That's what I keep telling Jean," he said. "What _will_ he be like? And I keep insisting that only she can help me in finding out."

Jean laughed. "Oh, yes, Maria. Warren talks about it all the time. And I keep answering--one generation at a time. Let his brilliance shine before we go forward."

And Maria Gianelli thought to herself: _It's not this one. He wants it to be, but it's not._

* * *

The next X-Man to arrive, on an ice slide, was Bobby Drake. He heard the voices of Jean and Warren coming from a clearing up ahead. Were they all right? He guessed so--there was no sign of Magneto...

He landed in the clearing. "You guys OK?" he asked. "I don't see--" And stopped cold. Standing in front of him was something out of a nightmare. A tall figure that reminded him of Frankenstein's monster, if it had been sanded down or something. But it seemed to be--a _woman._ He stiffened slightly, as "she" came closer to him.

"Bobby," Jean said in a voice that had just a hint of danger in it, as she saw Bobby's reaction, "this is Maria Gianelli. Our new X-Man."

Bobby had sense enough to de-ice, resuming his human form. "Hi," he said warily, as she took his hand. "Is that your power, Maria? To assume--"

"--This beauteous shape?" she asked, with a "smile" coming to those terrible lips. Bobby gulped. That face of hers looked like something you'd see on a Raggedy Ann doll. It gave him the creeps. Bobby shrugged.

"Yeah, if you want to put it that way. Do you have super-strength?"

"Among other things," Maria said, suddenly stretching out her arms to him and putting her hands around his neck. Bobby and Warren both gaped.

"I guess you do," Bobby said. "Why don't you become human again and we can get a good look at you?"

There was total silence. Bobby stopped dead. He had put his foot in it, somehow. "Did I say something wrong?" he asked Jean, shrugging with Maria's hands still around his neck.

Maria pulled her arms back to their "normal" configuration. "I'm afraid, Bobby," she said with a trace of amusement, "that this _is_ my human form. I can assume others briefly, but this is the real me."

Bobby licked his lips. Cripes, he _had_ put his foot in it. "Sorry," he said. "I didn't know."

"No harm done," Jean said, a bit crossly. Bobby winced mentally. He knew _that_ tone in her voice. He'd better toe the line here, though he was still in shock. He was an X-Man. How would he react to the team becoming a page out of _Famous Monsters of Filmland?_

And Maria Gianelli thought to herself: _God, it's sure as hell not this one. Bobby-I'm afraid that you and I are going to have some issues together. Well, it's your problem, not mine. But I'm glad that Jean is here to put you in your place. Warren, too. He's not pleased with you, Bobby, my boy. Not at all._

___________________________________________________________

Scott Summers approached the clearing. He had been running with all the desperation of fear, fear of Magneto alone with Jean, of what could be happening. If any harm came to her-- But no. His mind was blocked out to that. It _couldn't_ happen, therefore it wouldn't happen. Concentrate on anything else--tactics, strategy, what he'd do if this situation prevailed, what he'd do if another situation were the case. Be the perfect soldier. Everyone was counting on him. _She_ was counting on him.

He heard voices ahead, and almost cried out in relief. Jean was alive! And there was no fighting going on--crisis had passed! This was his first, overwhelming thought as he burst into the clearing. There she was! And Warren, and Bobby... Why was Jean's mask off? And who was--was this the other mutant, the one they had been searching for?

"Is everything all right?" he asked Jean in a cold, professional manner, keeping all emotion out of it. "Where's Magneto?"

"Maria chased him off," Jean said, indicating the stranger amongst them. She seemed not to notice Scott's relief, or his cold manner towards her. Scott looked at Maria. He saw a tall female form, with extraordinary hazel eyes on a strange, unformed face. Her body was bizarre--almost like she was made of gravel or sand. She seemed to exude power as she moved, as she breathed. Scott was impressed. _This mutant is the most powerful of us all. She'd be an overwhelming asset to the team._

He put out his hand, which she accepted. "Maria--I'm Scott Summers. Has Jean talked to you about the X-Men...?"

Maria smiled on that odd face of hers. "She has. And she's a pretty good salesman, Scott. I'm sold. You've got yourself an X-Man."

Scott did something he rarely did--he smiled. "Then this is a good day," he told the others. "Maria--welcome to the team. You'll never regret this decision."

"Oh, I'm sure I'll regret it all the time," Maria said. "What the hell does _that_ have to do with anything?" And everyone laughed at that--even Bobby. But he didn't stop looking oddly at her, Scott noted.

And Maria Gianelli thought to herself: _It's this one. No doubt about it whatever. The way they carefully_ _don't_ _look at each other--! And he's head over heels. The poor slob--he really has it bad. Well, why not? Anyone who loved Jean would have it bad. Nobody could love her half-heartedly. My God! He doesn't even know how_ _she_ _feels about_ _him_ _! And Jean--she doesn't realize, either! Oh, this is too rich! They're both crazy about each other, and neither has the sense to tell the other! Well--I'll give them some time to come to their senses. Then, I'm intervening. And I won't be bashful about it, either._

* * *

The last of the X-Men, Henry McCoy, made his way into the clearing. He had been reconnoitering in the trees, in case of trouble, but hearing the other's voices, he set himself down and walked forward. Magneto had vanished, thank goodness, and everyone else seemed to be in good enough spirits--

Hank stopped short. The newcomer--surely the mutant they had been pursuing--came up to him and put out a massive, grainy hand. "Hi," she said--for it was a female voice, though gravelly and hoarse, but still withal a voice of beauty. Hank took it.

"I'm Maria Gianelli," the newcomer said. "I've just joined the X-Men." Hank felt a sudden rush of pleasure, even joy, though he couldn't have explained why. He looked into a pair of hazel eyes. Those eyes! He had never seen anything so compelling. On that rather odd face--but interesting, different--they shined like stars. Hank felt flustered, even a little embarrassed, as he sensed those eyes watching him, judging him. He covered up his embarrassment with a show of erudition.

"Silicon, if I am not mistaken?" he asked the girl. "Your basic chemical state, that is. I deduce that from the way the grains seem to adhere to you, even though I don't see anything that would indicate something comparable to surface tension in liquid, which would surely be there if--"

The others laughed, including Maria. "You've been warned," Warren said. "Maria, Hank will probably find you the most interesting specimen he's ever had. Expect all sorts of Frankenstein-like experiments."

Hank flushed slightly, then smiled. "Indubitably, Miss Gianelli," he said, kissing her hand like Warren did. "I am cursed with curiosity. And you are--well, striking."

"I should hope so", Maria said, looking Hank right in the eye.

He flushed again. "And this form--it _is_ your natural form, right? I assume that you're a morph--that you can assume other shapes and chemical states--"

"Not now," Jean said, coming up and putting her arms around Hank and Maria. "There's time for that. Right now, it's time for celebration. Scott, let's get the _Blackbird_ from wherever it is we parked it, and get Maria back home and meet the Professor. We have a new X-Man!" And the others, even Bobby, even Scott, roared their approval.

And Maria Gianelli thought to herself: _You were never in the hunt, Hank. Now why does that please me so? You're adorable. I like you a whole lot. But for God's sake, Gianelli--don't think what you're thinking. There's no possible future there, for either of you. You don't want to hurt this boy. And you don't want to be hurt. You've just found a home. Don't lead with your chin, and get hurt. You know damned well that whatever life has in store for you, romance is never going to be part of it. You accepted this long ago. Don't fall in love._

* * *

And as the six young mutants left the clearing together, at that self-same moment a figure in a dark laboratory watched them on a television screen. The figure was very tall, had an ageless face with a blue tint, and wore a jewel in his forehead. His name was Nathaniel Essex, and he was a happy man in that instant.

_So the girl has joined them. That's very good. It helps my plans--though of course,_ _everything_ _helps my plans. But it was a close call. Magneto almost had her. And if he had gotten her--and killed Jean--God knows what chaos would have ensued._

He turned the screen off, having seen enough. _The girl's father--hopeless. Corrupt, useless. He deserved that cancer I gave him. But then, he failed me--the girl escaped. Maybe it was my fault, for trying to buy her outright. But at least I know now where she is. Maria, child--we shall meet again. And next time, there shall be no escape for you. You're too important, I'm afraid. Almost as much so as Scott and Jean. And isn't it just perfect to have the three of you in one place, where I can keep an eye on you all?_

* * *

And in another dark room, in another place, another figure watched its own television screen. The figure was carefully observing Essex observing the X-Men. It watched as Essex turned off his screen. After a moment, the figure turned off its screen as well.

 _Well, well. So the girl_ _has_ _joined the X-Men. The process has begun, then. And if things go as I expect they shall, it will get very interesting, indeed. Essex--he thinks he can control the girl, control Summers, above all control Jean Grey. He is an idiot. He always has been._ The figure went to a window and opened it, getting a small summer breeze come through the room. The figure yawned _._ It was tired. Well, it would sleep the sleep of the dead tonight. A great burden had been lifted from its soul. The girl was in place. The figure could not conceal from itself how relieved it was.

 _If nothing else, the X-Men are immensely more powerful now. Maria has no notion of just how powerful she really is. She told some of this to Jean, but still... Well, Xavier will discover this in due course. But in the struggle against the Brotherhood, the balance will shift now--in Xavier's favor. Is that a good thing, or a bad thing? It's too early to tell. And there is more out there. Trask is building his Sentinels. When they become operational, everything will change for the mutants. Forever._ The figure made a gesture that might almost have been one of concern. _That will be hard to predict. The Sentinels will likely improve with each generation, get deadlier and deadlier. Almost certainly, they will come to be a threat to ordinary humans as well. Trask is a fool. Well, it's too late to stop him now._

The figure yawned again. Yes, it was time to sleep, and it would be able to now with a good heart. _The fire is coming. It is still many years away, but it is coming. And Jean Grey will have to endure it, consume it, make it her own. Maria is by her side--how will that affect her when the time comes? God knows. I do not. Though I must learn. Perhaps we shall all regret this day. Well, I can think no more of it tonight._ The figure turned out the lights, and headed to bed. Tomorrow, perhaps, things would be seen with more clarity.

* * *

"Idiot! Out of my sight!"

Wanda Maximoff watched as the Toad hopped frantically away from Magneto's private quarters. Magneto had returned from his quest in as foul a mood as Wanda had ever seen him, which was no mean feat, given some of their leader's past tantrums. Something had obviously gone wrong with the search for the new mutant.

She started. Wyngarde had come up upon her so quietly, she didn't even hear him--a trick he was good at. She shuddered at the cynical smile on his saturnine face. Everything about this man revolted her, not least the casual assumption of proprietorship he assumed with her. Even so, Wyngards was--or had been--a gentleman. For all her contempt, she didn't regard him as she did the Toad, a drooling pervert to whom she didn't even give the dignity of his real name.

Wanda hated this place, she hated everyone around her--except for Pietro, of course--and she lived in a cocoon of fear. Fear of Magneto, naturally. His wrath was omnipresent, and always anticipated with dread. His bizarre plans, the orders he gave that he never explained, the seemingly endless war he had forced Pietro and herself into, the aims of which she did not understand... She felt lost and hopeless. It was only Pietro's presence that made any of this even remotely tolerable.

But her fears didn't end with the masterful man who was their leader. She hated and feared both Mastermind and the Toad, and she was never able to escape their presence for any length of time. She could always feel them near by--Wyngarde, whose smile always made it apparent what he was thinking about, and the easy confidence in that smile, the confidence that he would get his way in the end. The thought revolted Wanda. But even that was better than the Toad. She shuddered at the very thought of him--always looking at her out of the corner of his eye, leering, never openly disrespectful--Magneto saw to that!--but always all but slobbering whenever he looked at her. There was not even the pretense that Wyngarde gave of being civilized.

She also feared their missions, those bizarre times they left their quarters and went out to obey whatever orders Magneto felt like giving them. So many of those orders made Wanda sick at heart. There had been attacks on innocent humans, invasions of whole nations, so many actions that reeked of ordinary criminality. But Magneto repeatedly emphasized that there were no "innocent humans"--and after all, could she deny this? They had almost killed her and Pietro in their homeland of Scandia--and only he, Magneto, had been there to save them. They owed him their lives. Following his orders was a small price to pay. Let her conscience stay quiet.

And of course, she feared the X-Men, those other mutants, the renegades who seemed to take such pride in defending ordinary humans. Why did they do that, Wanda often wondered to herself--defend the humans against their own people? She did not understand this. What she did understand was that the X-Men were formidable foes, who seemed more dangerous each time the Brotherhood encountered them. The first time had been in Central America, some months ago. Since then, there had been over a dozen encounters between the Brotherhood and the young mutants in the black and yellow costumes, some minor, some significant. The latest one had had the mighty Sub-Mariner himself joining the Brotherhood's ranks. But that had proved abortive, like so much of what they did.

And that was typical. Abortive. Plans that went nowhere, hiding, skulking in dark holes...was this the life Magneto had in store for them? How long would Wanda be able to stand it here, the isolation and those terrible people always there, always leering at her, with only Pietro to save her? And if she were honest with herself, she even feared Pietro. He was so intense, like a spring wound too tight. His protectiveness was smothering sometimes, like a blanket always choking her. In the old country, brothers did protect their sisters from danger, if there was no father present. And Wanda did not doubt the basic wisdom of this course--she was shocked at what she was able to see of American women, the freedom, the untrammeled license, they had. She was happy for protection. But Pietro was _so_ intense... And then, Wanda feared _for_ Pietro as well. He did not fear Magneto. And that, Wanda felt in her soul, was not wise.

Above all, Wanda feared herself. Her power, which was so unpredictable, so out of any control of hers. Magneto had explained it to her often: "You affect probability, my dear. There is nothing 'magical' about it. We have work to do, to be sure, in getting it better under your control. But once we do..." But Wanda was not fooled by this sort of talk. Magic, probability--they meant the same thing in the end. In her part of the world, things popped up occasionally that the people just _knew._ Transylvania was near her homeland...and the knowledge of vampires. And on the other side of Scandia lay Latveria. Compared to the horrors of _that_ land, vampires were a cozy and comforting thought indeed...

No. Wanda _knew_ that her abilities were beyond the understanding of Magneto, and his oh-so-comforting words. And that made her most afraid of all. She had wondered sometimes if it would help if she had another girl to talk to, that that might ease her burden somewhat. That X-Man--the red-head, the one called Marvel Girl. There was something about her... Wanda sometimes wished they could in some manner be isolated in one of the bouts between the X-Men and the Brotherhood, that they might talk, and Wanda could explain her fears to someone who might be sympathetic.

She sighed to herself. But no. The other girl would probably just use the chance to try to proselytize Wanda into joining the X-Men. She would have her own agenda, her own desire to use Wanda for her ends. Just like Magneto. Just like everybody.

She started. She had almost forgotten Wyngarde's presence. He was smiling at her. "Well, my dear? Have we returned from our little nap?"

She glared at him. "What do you want?"

The smile didn't change. "Oh, nothing, my lovely Wanda. Nothing at all... Just a word of friendly advice: I'd avoid our esteemed leader for awhile. His mission, I fear, fared no better than Mortimer's and mine did yesterday. In fact, not to put too fine a point upon it, he's come back with his tail between his legs. And he is not in a good mood."

"Is he ever?" Wanda asked wearily, suddenly wishing desperately that she was somewhere, anywhere, other than this place.

"Probably not-at least, not by _our_ benevolent standards," Wyngarde answered with a hint of joviality. "Oh, my dear Wanda--I see how distressed you are. Might a glass of wine ease your concerns right now?"

Wanda saw a green blur come out of nowhere, and the next thing she saw Pietro had appeared and had his hands around Wyngarde's throat. "I've warned you, Mastermind," he said, a quiet but deadly intonation in his voice. "You ignore my warnings."

"My dear Pietro," Wyngarde said, not seemingly nonplussed. "This is a small domicile for us all, and there are very few of us. It's inevitable that we're going to encounter each other in the course of the day and pass the time. Is it not?" And Wyngarde attempted a reasonable smile to match his words, something that seemingly just worked to enrage Pietro all the more.

For a moment, Wanda had a horrified feeling that Pietro was going to throw Wyngarde through a window, make a terrible scene, and bring Magneto out to investigate--which would just add gasoline to an already bad situation. But he thought better of it, merely releasing the other man. "Come, Wanda," her brother told her. "We shall retire away from the others. Come, sister. I have spoken."

"Yes, Pietro," Wanda said, more heartsick than ever. Another small dagger through her heart, another small piece of poison in this already laden atmosphere. How long would she be able to endure it?


	4. Homecoming

BOOK TWO: THE EDUCATION OF AN X-MAN

* * *

Chapter Four--Homecoming

* * *

The small plane set down in a landing-field amidst thick woods. Maria saw the Hudson River far to the west as they approached, and rolling hills surrounding them. She had been a city girl as a kid, and couldn't remember ever getting up to this neck of the woods, except for the Hudson Excursion boat a time or two. They all piled out of the _Blackbird_ , and Maria felt a strong sense of anticipation. _Home._ Was that was this place was? Did she have a home now? She couldn't believe that...but then, she couldn't believe anything that had happened since Frank had encountered her in the woods. She briefly wondered if she was a mental case, locked in some loony bin in a straitjacket while fantasizing about "mutants". Things were moving so fast, after so many years of hardship and hopelessness...it was overwhelming, and the ride was nowhere near coming to a stop.

The others were talking excitedly, speaking to her about this and that and how over there was their skating pond in winter, and there was where Bobby made a life-size ice statue of King Kong, anatomically correct, and there was the ball field, and hey!, would it be cheating if Maria could stretch her arms, and what do you think telekinesis and wings and superhuman agility were, anyway, and we should start playing with no powers, and how could you do that if you couldn't turn your powers off, and the Professor would figure out all of this, his rulings always made sense...

Maria heard it all with kind of controlled panic that kept welling up into joy. Oh God, what _was_ she doing here, anyway? Was it too late to just run away? She shook her head mentally. No--she had been doing that for four years. She could sense fate, God, destiny, call it what you will, taking a hand here. There was something _right_ about all this. This was, she knew, where she was supposed to be. _I never really liked my exile. I told myself I didn't care, but I always knew I was lying. Now I'm immersed in life--at least, as much as I can be. No--don't think about_ _that_ _._

They approached a very large house with four stories and several wings branching out from the main one. There were outbuildings and garages and generators and gardens and statues and a swimming pool, and she was trying to take it all in, but there was so much to see and more every step she took. Then they entered the house, and a huge entry hall with rooms off to the right and left and ahead, and a staircase directly in front that looked as if it could handle the entire 101st Airborne all at once. Maria blinked--she didn't know places like this really existed. This must have been as large as the goddam White House.

Right in the middle of the giant hall sat a man in a wheelchair. He was in his early thirties, Maria guessed, and as bald as an egg. He had a small smile on his face, and put his hand out as she approached.

"Maria Gianelli," he said, and his voice washed over Maria like a warm summer rain after a drought, and she realized immediately that she loved this man. And, more importantly, _trusted_ him. She looked right into his eyes with her intense hazel ones, and took his hand, and perhaps he felt the extreme emotion washing over her, because he flushed slightly, and seemed almost nonplussed for a second. "Welcome to Professor Xavier's School for Gifted Youngsters," he continued, and Maria almost cried. When he said the word "welcome", she realized with a shock of surprise that he meant it, and that he meant nothing else. There was no hint of any hidden agenda--no satisfaction at stealing a march on Magneto, no thoughts about what her power might add to the X-Men. For that matter, no concern about how her presence might complicate his life. She almost sank to the floor, she was so overwhelmed. Yes. This place was "home". Really, the only one she had ever known.

Quick thoughts came to her, revolving around her determination to defend this place and these people, and what she was prepared to do towards that end. She forced herself to get those thoughts out of her head--they were now part of her soul, and she could deal with them in due course. But they _were_ part of her now. This place--these people--were her life now, and she had a duty to them. And she was not one for half-measures...

"Professor Xavier," she said, suddenly wincing at what her voice must sound like to this man. "Thank you for your invitation. I'm greatly honored to be here."

He smiled slightly. "Well, Maria, we're delighted to have you. This must be a change after your experiences these past few years."

"Yes, sir," she said, looking around. "I'm not--well, I'm not entirely accustomed to civilization. You'll have to make some allowances for that."

"We'll manage," he said drily. "Are you hungry? Thirsty? Would you like to freshen up, or take a shower--" Professor Xavier froze, suddenly looking like he had swallowed a suspect mushroom. "That is--"

Maria laughed out loud. "Professor--in order, I'm starved, I'm dying of thirst, I don't need to freshen up, and I take showers just like anybody else." She stretched out her gravelly hands. "My skin, body, can get wet just like anyone's. When I'm immersed in water, I do not turn into mud. I get clean. Why that should be, I'm sure you'll be able to figure out."

The innocent, but ever-so-slightly wicked, manner in which she said this brought a burst of laughter from everyone present, even the Professor. "Well, then," he replied, "food first? Before anything, including the slightest hint of business. Carla has been making a buffet ever since I heard that you were going to be coming. So: if we all repair to the kitchen..."

Maria smiled. "Professor-I've been surviving for four years on stolen scraps and occasional catching of poor little animals. If you're offering real food, I'll take it." Everyone else agreed to this suggestion heartily.

Fifteen minutes later, Maria was eating what seemed to be her one-hundredth meat ball, with chicken and ham slices arrayed in front of her and a mountain of potato salad arrayed beyond that. A real meal. When was the last time? Probably that evening near South Bend, when she frightened a family taking a picnic, and they had considerately left their food behind. Well, this sure beat that all hollow.

The others were watching her shovel it in with a certain awe. "Hey, Hank," Bobby said. "I thought _you_ liked to eat."

"Now, Robert," the Professor said, slightly chidingly. "She _has_ been absent from civilized amenities for a long time."

"OK, Prof," Bobby said, taking a plate of pigs-in-a-blanket from Carla Powell, a sturdy Negro woman of about forty who came in from Peekskill five days week to cook. She was a friendly soul who took life--and the inhabitants of this house--as she found them. Charles trusted her discretion absolutely, and she would have faced down Magneto single-handedly for Charles' sake. He had cured her son of severe psychic trauma when the boy was eight years old, and all the other doctors had advised Carla to give the boy up as a hopeless case. Using his telepathy, Charles had entered the boy's mind and exorcised some very powerful inner demons, indeed. He was healthy and thriving now, and Carla regarded Charles as just slightly on a lower plane than the Jesus her Baptist soul fervently believed in.

Hank was watching Maria with interest. "Maria--might I ask a question?"

"Umm?" she replied with a mouth full of turkey. "Sure," she finally said when she had swallowed. "Anything." And she was surprised how literally she meant that, especially with this young man. That he was asking her any questions, seemed to be taking an interest in her--he was, wasn't he?--pleased her. And terrified her. _Stop it, girl! You can't tease him..._

Hank frowned. "Well--I'm just wondering about your physiology. Do you eat more than an average person of your size? I mean, you are large for a female, human or mutant, so I'm sure you don't have a small appetite...and of course, you've been living in the wild. But given your power, and how much mass you're able to maintain in certain of your states--"

Maria laughed. "You mean, how can I do all that, if I don't eat ten times my body weight every day?" she said, and Hank nodded. "Hank--that's a very good question. I've thought of it now and then, of course, but my knowledge of mutant biology is pretty sketchy." She turned to the Professor. "Sir--can you answer it? And the answer to his question is, despite the pig I'm making of myself right now, no, I do _not_ eat ten times my body weight every day. So how do I manage to utilize so much energy when I go into my Shifting states?"

Charles had been following this exchange with interest, gratified to see Hank taking an interest in Maria and glad to see the girl's eager response, and how intelligently she grasped the problem. "It's difficult to say," he answered. "Of course, the problem isn't unique with you, Maria. Henry himself is six foot tall and weighs about two hundred and twenty pounds, yet has the strength of at least a dozen normal men his size. And there are the examples of the Thing and the Hulk, ordinary humans who have been transformed by cosmic and gamma rays into beings who weigh much more than ordinary men, and have strength far more than proportional to even that weight. I don't know about the Hulk, but Dr Richards has been kind enough to permit me to see some of his notes regarding Ben Grimm, and I can say that he eats no more than his weight--about four hundred pounds--would indicate. He certainly does _not_ eat enough for the sheer energy he expends when he uses his strength."

"So, then, nobody really knows anything?" Maria said, munching on another meatball to show that she hadn't forgotten what they were talking about.

Charles smiled slightly. "In a nutshell, young lady--yes."

Maria turned to Hank and smiled. "Well, then, Mr. McCoy--there's something you can work on. I'll be your guinea pig anytime you want." _Dammit, stop it! Don't do that, girl!_

There was much merriment after this suggestion was broached, with Warren offering Jean as a guinea pig-- "provided I can be the mad scientist" --and Hank giving his opinion as to Warren's suitability for this role. Jean, her eyes bright, looking, Maria thought, very happy, said that she'd be the one to choose her mad scientist, and that maybe she'd make a good Bride of Frankenstein when the time came--

And then Jean Grey flushed, and all talk stopped, as everyone looked guiltily at Maria. Who just smiled in a superior way, and stood up. She walked to the center of the kitchen, bowed to the others, and turned away. She thought to herself, concentrated, and turned back--

The others gasped. Standing in front of them was an apparition, a smooth, white face, coiffured dark hair with a white streak, pointing at them with an outstretched finger. "Hssss!" she spat out of her mouth.

"My God!" Charles said, looking at an almost-perfect simulacron of Elsa Lanchester as, indeed, the Bride of Frankenstein. Maria turned around again, and when she returned to the table was her normal grainy self. She sat down with an air of innocence.

"What-the-hell-" said Bobby slowly.

"I think he speaks for all of us," Warren said, but with a look of admiration on his face.

"Oh, please," Maria said. "Every Halloween, I go prowling one of our great American metropolises, scaring the snot out of as many little brats as I can find. Shifting to the Bride of Frankenstein was one of my earliest efforts in this regard. It's a pretty easy one, actually."

The others had no seeming response to this. It was Scott who finally spoke.

"I can see that there are surprises ahead of us." Maria nodded cheerfully, and ate another meatball.

* * *

After dinner, Jean took Maria up to the second floor wing where she had her room. "We'll have a proper girls dorm up here," she said as she showed Maria into a room next to her own. "What do you think?"

Maria looked around. My God--it had a bed! She laughed to herself. Well, since this was a bedroom--! But it hit her just then that she _wouldn't_ be sleeping under a tree trunk, or next to a stone wall, that night. She walked over gingerly to the bed, touched it, sat down on it. It seemed to support her weight...

"Lie down!" Jean said gaily. "You won't break it, Maria."

"I dunno," Maria said, taking Jean's advice. "I'm not a lightweight." But it seemed to hold her weight just fine, and she shut her eyes, and she heard Jean's words as she would a waterfall, beautiful soothing sounds lapping her ears and muzzling her body on a lovely spring morning...

Maria blinked. It was sunny out, and the light was coming from the east. "Oh, no..."

 _Maria,_ voice in her head said.

 _Professor?_ Maria replied, finding the psychic communication strange, but not particularly difficult. _My God--did I sleep all night?_

 _You did,_ the Professor answered, a hint of amusement in his thoughts, or so she sensed. _In fact, it's nine a.m. Everyone else has been up for quite some time, but I thought that since this is your first day, and you've been--uh--away from civilization for some time, that we might make an allowance this once. But now--I wish to have you report to my study at ten o'clock sharp, if you please. There is much to discuss._

 _Yes, sir,_ she answered, and got out of bed. She went to a bathroom and used it for various tasks, including a long, intense shower. This was nearly her undoing. She would wash herself in streams or ponds sometimes, but a hot shower! She just luxuriated in it, wondering as she did so if maybe she _was_ turning to mud, so much grime and junk came off her. But she emerged merely wet, and dried her rough form with a towel that might never recover from the ordeal. She also dried her hair, such as it was, with another towel and wondered if even the Professor had the money he'd need to deal with the towels she was going to wear out.

In the event, she was in Professor Xavier's study at ten o'clock sharp, standing in front of his desk. He looked up at her and said slowly, "please sit down, Maria." She did so.

He cupped his chin in his right hand, looking at her carefully. "Maria--are those rags the only clothes you generally wear?"

She nodded. "Yes, sir. There's no point in wearing anything else, since they get destroyed so easily when I Shift. No, I only put on just the, well, basics."

Charles Xavier considered this, and Maria could have sworn she saw him blush for a moment. "Hmm...I see..."

"I don't exactly look like the Playmate of the Month," Maria answered. "I don't appear either modest or immodest, do I?"

"No," Charles answered. "You have a feminine form, of course--"

"That's kind of you, sir," she answered. "But let's face it--I look like a statue that's never quite been finished. The usual stuff that goes on with clothes--or the lack of them--doesn't really apply to me, does it?"

"No," he said again, slower this time. "Nonetheless, Maria, I believe that proper dress is--well, mandatory. It certainly is at this school."

She nodded. "I understand perfectly, sir. I've come here of my own free will, and will accept your rules. That should go without saying."

He seemed pleased. "Very good." He produced a box. "Maria--there's a small anteroom next door. Would you take this box, and put on what's inside? I'm very interested to see what this will look like on you."

Maria did as he asked, and returned wearing a black-and-yellow costume that covered her irregular figure as best it could. "That is a standard uniform," he said. "Quite similar to the others', as you see. Like all of the standard uniforms, it is comprised of unstable molecules, courtesy of Dr. Reed Richards. Stretch your arms!" Maria did so, and gasped. The uniform stretched along with them!

"My God!" she said. "Professor--does this work for all my states?"

"Absolutely," he said. "Try a few of them, and see." Maria Shifted into her diamond form, and the costume altered along with her body. She Shifted into the Frankenstein Monster, up to eight feet, and the costume again altered with her form. Finally, she impulsively Shifted to her water form, and the costume seemed to turn into water, too. She Shifted back to normal, but not before some water seeped onto the floor of the Professor's study.

"Oh," she said, embarrassed. "I'm sorry, sir--let me get something to mop it up--"

Charles Xavier smiled and waved her off. "No matter for now, Maria. You see how handy these unstable molecules can be? We're going to measure you for regular clothes, as well. They too shall be made of unstable molecules, so that if you are ever taken by surprise, you'll be able to function immediately without having to switch into your uniform."

The logic of this impressed itself upon Maria, and she nodded. "Yes, sir." She hesitated, then: "Professor, I have to admit, I have almost no experience in combat situations. I have a lot to learn. I know that by joining the X-Men, I'll have to be trained. I accepted that, and everything that came with it, when I agreed to join." She hesitated again. "But, sir--this is going to sound bizarre--"

He smiled his encouragement at her. "You're expressing yourself admirably, Maria."

"Thank you, sir... It's just that--well, I don't exactly know what my powers really are. I told Jean that I've always been afraid to test them as I could have, because if I found out just what I was capable of, I wouldn't be able to avoid taking sides in mutant politics. I would have been unable to continue as I was, wandering and ignoring the rest of the world--and the future. Well, I've made my commitment. And having made it, I'm in it for the long haul. Given that, I think it's just common sense to find out exactly what the parameters of my powers really are."

Professor Xavier looked pleased. "That's an exceptionally intelligent--and mature--attitude, Maria. You see what's in front of your eyes, and know what's important. That's an excellent start. Soon, we're going to be going into an area we call the Danger Room. It's a place where we test our powers, and train ourselves in their use. For today, all I want you to do is what you've always done. We'll see where your abilities lie right now, and what you can do with them. When we've finished with that task--and I can't say how long it'll take--then we'll see where we are, and begin to explore any other powers you might not be aware of yet. But a step at a time."

"Yes, sir," she said, again as if this was obvious. "I take it you did similar things with all the others?"

"Oh, yes," he said. "But in their cases, we knew from the start pretty much what their powers were, and how they worked. Although they constantly surprise me, I'm glad to say. But in your case..." He frowned. "Maria--I must admit, I've never encountered a mutant like you before. In terms of how broad your abilities are, what a wide range of powers you seem to have. Even with what we know, there is no other mutant whose powers are so unresolved, with the possible exception of The Scarlet Witch. This is going to be a challenge."

He shut his eyes a moment and sighed. "Maria--I must confess to you, I had been planning to take a leave of absence from the School. Travel, try to relax, and also to deal with some personal issues." His eyes opened widely, and he smiled at her. "The other students are only weeks away from their formal graduation from the School. They have completed a rigorous prep school education, as well as developed as X-Men. That being the case, I had hoped for a sabbatical. But it wasn't to be. Your coming here is a sign, that my work is far from over--and indeed, in many ways has just begun. I find this personally invigorating. You are to be my greatest challenge."

She smiled at him. "Well, sir, I'd hate to be second."

He smiled in return. "A good attitude, Maria. A very good one. You know that your challenges are going to be unique. In many ways, you are _not_ like my other students. You have had more independence, you are more powerful--more so even than Cyclops--your personality is more formed. But even so, much of your experience is similar, too."

She nodded. "Yes, sir. The Torches and Pitchforks."

"Quite so. We all know something of that. Which is why I need to ask you if you're prepared to make sacrifices I haven't had to ask of the others."

"The Madwoman in the Attic," Maria said. Professor Xavier looked startled.

"That's very apt, Maria," he said. Then he saw the growing smile on her unformed face. "What's the joke, if I might ask?"

Maria laughed out loud. "Professor--Magneto, when he encountered Jean and I in Pennsylvania yesterday, warned me about this. He said that you would make me the mutant version of the Madwoman in the Attic. Basically, keep me a prisoner. Shall we speak plainly, sir?"

He nodded. He looked fascinated, deeply impressed--and, Maria thought, rather sad.

"Very well, Professor. The others can go out in public, except maybe Warren-"

She stopped, as the Professor shook his head. "The Angel has a harness which he can fold his wings into. He, too, can 'go out', as you put it."

She flinched. "Ouch. I'll bet _that_ smarts. Well, I should have known he'd have something. But I'm glad it hurts him. Things would be _too_ perfect for him otherwise."

Professor Xavier smiled gently. "Avoiding perfection, I fear, is something that Warren does seem to have to watch out for."

"Umm hmm... Look, sir: The others can go out. I can't. I realize this. Hell, of course I do. I did from the instant Jean asked me to join the team. I said I'd play by your rules, sir, and I shall. But I'm not going to kid you--I'm not going to be happy about it. In some ways, I'm going to be even more of an outsider than I was when I was on my own. What I'm getting in exchange is worth it--worth it ten times over. Sir--I feel like I've come home. Already."

Charles looked down at the floor. "Child--this _is_ your home. The moment I met you in the hall, I knew this was where you belonged."

She smiled, and stretched her hand to his, and grasped it. "Yes, sir," she said. "I'm not one to give loyalty lightly. And believe me--it _wasn't_ done lightly. Maybe someday, what transpired between Jean and I will be known to you. But for the moment, sir, I'd request that it be our secret."

Charles Xavier felt a lump in his throat. "Oh, my dear-- Of course. Of course." But there was something in her voice, her attitude, when she made this request-- No. No, he sensed that whatever this was, it was something deep inside her, something in what he called the Inviolate Zone that each of his students had, some place so personal to them that he wouldn't have dreamed of attempting to penetrate it.

"As you say," he replied. "Perhaps someday."

"Yes, sir," she answered in a subdued voice. "But I'm going to tell you right out, sir--despite these grounds and this house, I'm going to get cabin fever sometimes. I'll do my best to keep it within bounds, but it'll be there."

He looked at this girl, and he felt such a rush of conflicting emotions--love, respect, pity, sheer admiration for her spirit--that for a moment, he couldn't go on. "My dear," he finally said. "Someday, somehow, we shall find an answer to this problem. This, I swear."

She smiled. "Your word is good enough for me."

He shrugged. "There are things-- I know that Stark Industries is working on something called an 'image inducer', that might give you some camouflage when you go out in public. But I'm afraid that it's several years away from any practical application."

"Well, we can't make things _too_ easy for me," she said with a wistful tone in that gravelly voice. She paused. "Professor--"

"Yes, Maria?" he answered, aware that she was about to ask something very serious.

"Will a day ever come that we don't have to walk in the darkness? Hide ourselves? A day where we can just show ourselves to the world as we are?"

Charles Xavier was silent for a long time. "Maria...the short answer is, I don't know! Of course, I have thought of this. The masks, the so-called 'secret identities'...does all this make things worse, or better? Had the fact of mutants come to the attention of the world slowly, naturally, my answer might have been different. But it was otherwise. All of my X-Men have had encounters with hostile mobs of homo sapiens. You of course have a name for it-- 'Torches and Pitchforks'. It is my firm belief that walking in darkness, as you call it, is a necessity at this moment in history. Magneto, with his assault on Cape Citadel, and the more recent invasion of Central America, has greatly increased the dangers, too. If we went public right now, our safety--and that of our loved ones--would be in constant danger."

He sighed. "And I know how insufficient this must sound to you. You, of all of us... I know the counter-arguments. That by hiding away, we are making a bad situation worse. Magneto certainly believes this. I do not know what the right answer is, Maria Gianelli. But for the moment, the course we are taking seems best."

"Yes, sir," she said softly. "And I accept your judgment."

He looked at her, and squeezed her hand, still outstretched to him. "My dear girl...your presence seems to make everything different. You make me see the world in a new light."

"Is that a bad thing, sir?" she asked gently.

"Oh, of course not!" he said, smiling. "Having all my assumptions questioned is the best thing that's happened to me in some time, believe me. You are good for me, Maria." He looked pensive. "But I do swear to you--you will not be 'The Madwoman in the Attic' forever."

"Yes, sir," she said, in a voice that was quiet and filled with understanding--so much so that it made Charles Xavier wince inside. He would not betray her trust in him, no matter what.

"Let's get some business done," he said, to get his mind off his own emotion. He opened his desk and got out some papers. "Let's get some basic facts...your name is Maria Gianelli?" he asked in a neutral voice.

"Yes, sir," she answered. "Maria Anna Gianelli. Born February 7, 1947. New York City."

"Umm," he said, writing this down. "Parents?"

She paused slightly, and he noticed the pause, and almost asked about it, but didn't. "Deceased."

"I'm sorry," he answered, and she shrugged. "All right--relatives?"

"A brother, Frank," she said. "Born October 22, 1939. Employed at _The Daily Bugle._ "

"Indeed," Charles said, his eyebrows raised. "He knows about you--?"

"Absolutely, sir," she said. "And he would never say a word to anyone. He loves his job, but he'd sacrifice it in a second to avoid hurting me. You have nothing to worry about on that score, and in fact I'd strongly recommend that you take him into your confidence."

Charles grunted. It was a pleasure to speak with this girl--she got to the point, carried herself like a professional already, and saw what mattered. The potential here...

"Well, Maria, legally you're a minor," he said. "But under the circumstances, I don't know how relevant that is. I can hardly reveal you to the Child Welfare authorities. I suppose we'll have to make our own laws as we go along." He gave a wry laugh. "I wonder what Magneto would say to that, if he could hear me! But your brother is your legal guardian, at the moment. I believe we shall be in contact with him soon, Maria."

"Yes, sir," she nodded. "I think that's a good idea."

"Now," Charles said, "I believe we need to retire to the Danger Room, and see what we have in you."


	5. Initiation

Chapter Five

* * *

That evening, Maria trudged down to the kitchen from the Danger Room. It was long past dinner time, and Carla had gone home, but maybe she could rustle up some food. My God, she realized, she hadn't eaten that day at all! It had been so busy...and there had been so much that was draining, physically and emotionally.

As she entered the kitchen, there was a cascade of spitballs, peanuts, popcorn, and other flotsam and jetsam tossed in her general direction, along with cries and shouts: "Welcome to the club!" "Ready for my close-up, Mr Demille!" "Enter freely, and of your own will!" Even Scott was smiling, and he said, "how does it feel to be put through the wringer?", while tossing a popcorn ball.

Maria blinked. All of the others were there, laughing and giving her a mock standing ovation. She looked at Jean, who bowed to her.

"Miss Gianelli," she said formally. "Congratulations are in order. You have now officially been baptized as a student in Professor Xavier's School for Gifted Youngsters. I assure you, it only gets worse from here. But you've had your Initiation Day. The Professor has, indeed, put you through the wringer, as my esteemed colleague Mr. Summers has suggested. You have been poked, prodded, sweated, interrogated, and, in all probability, examined with a rectal thermometer. In the course of this, you have avoided the bourgeois necessities of life, such as dinner. Which in this case is extremely unfortunate as Carla fixed the rest of us a spaghetti dinner to die for." Jean turned in the direction of the kitchen table. "Fortunately, we have decided to be merciful and save just a little for you. If you'd care to sit down..." Jean nodded towards the table.

Maria blinked. There, at a seat at the table, was indeed a plate of spaghetti that made her mouth water just looking at it. However uncaring her mother had been, she knew how to make spaghetti. But, Maria decided as she looked--and sniffed--the meal in front of her, Carla had her mother beat all hollow. Also at the table was a party hat, a large cloth napkin with a picture of Fess Parker as Davy Crockett on it, some Italian bread that looked even better than the spaghetti, three cans of Coke, and in the middle of the table a large cake with the words "Abandon Hope, All Ye Who Enter Here" emblazoned on top.

She sat down, a bit stunned. "Is this all there is to the initiation?" she asked softly. "I mean, this hardly seems appropriate. Don't I have to assume the position or something?"

There was a loud laugh from the others. "We thought of that," Warren said, "but we figured that the paddle would break. Don't worry--we're working on it. But you present a special challenge."

Maria nodded. "Quite so." She put Davy around her neck, and started to dig in. The others sat down around the table too.

"As it happens," Hank said, "we have yet to repast ourselves of dessert. And while we are loathe to cut into your cake before you're ready to eat it--"

Maria made a face. "--You're all going to eat it anyway."

"That is the general idea, Miss Gianelli," Jean said as she began to cut the cake and pass out pieces to the others. "So," she said, turning to Maria, "seriously--how _did_ it go? That first day--it _can_ be a wringer, no joking."

"You said it," Maria said, pausing before continuing. There had been such a remarkable moment during the day, one she was still mentally chewing over...a good simile, she thought to herself, taking another mouthful of spaghetti. No--Mother never made anything like _this._ She smiled to herself. Someday, she'd have to unleash her own spaghetti on these unsuspecting innocents...

Maria sighed. "Well," she said, "we went over my powers. The Professor believes--and I agree with him--that my full range has yet to be discovered. We went over some family history and stuff like that, which is pretty dull, really." Jean's facial expression didn't change when Maria said this, but Maria imagined she could see Jean frowning mentally. Maria realized then that Jean knew something of the mental turmoil that today's session had aroused in her. Well--if she couldn't trust Jean Grey, whom could she trust? She'd discuss this privately with her later...

Maria made a few more general remarks about today's events, which seemed to satisfy the others. She shut her eyes. The last three days had been such a rush--it was all too much. So much had changed so totally, so quickly... She opened her eyes, saw the others looking at her with a touch of concern. "It's OK, I'm OK," she said. "Just thinking. I don't get tired easily."

There was some laughter over this. "She says, who slept twelve hours last night," Bobby said.

Maria was practically sucking the spaghetti down, it was so tasty. "Those were special circumstances," she said. "Try sleeping in the wild for four years, and see how _you_ like it." The others nodded, and Scott looked thoughtfully at Maria.

"Have you given any thought to your code-name, Maria?" he asked. "You'll have to have one, sooner rather than later."

Maria paused in the act of taking another bite, and put her fork down. "No," she said, a bit puzzled. "No, Scott, I haven't given it a thought, to be honest. I wonder why. Any suggestions?"

The others thought for a second. "How about Sand Girl?" Hank said cautiously. "Like the villain, the Sandman? Your powers aren't all that different from his."

" 'Sand Girl' "? Maria said skeptically. "I'm sorry, but that sounds like a character from an Annette Funicello movie. And my powers are only superficially like the Sandman's. That's really only a small part of what I can do...and I don't want to sound like I'm imitating anybody. Whatever I am, I'm an original."

There was some more thought, and Maria could hear Bobby say under his breath, "the Thingess." Jean turned to him, a dangerous smile on her face.

"I'm not quite sure we caught that, Bobby. Would you care to repeat it?"

Bobby looked like he wanted to shrink right out of the scene. "Just thinking out loud--didn't realize I was being audible, Jean." Jean just kept looking at him, the smile changing into a definite frown. "And what I was saying was, well, 'Tigress'. Maria looks so--fierce."

The lameness of this suggestion was so blatant that the others ignored it, which, Maria saw, suited Bobby fine. But she had heard what he said, and she sighed to herself. This was Bobby's problem, she told herself again, not hers. She could only do her best. Bobby would grow up when he grew up. Maria looked at Jean--she wasn't pleased at all, that was clear. But meanwhile, other suggestions were being made.

"How about 'Sentinel'?" Warren said. "You look tall and stalwart. Heck, put a cap on you, and you might just pass for the Statue of Liberty."

This thought was so absurd that Maria couldn't help it--she burst into a giggle fit. She had to put the napkin to her mouth to keep from exploding the spaghetti out, thereby messing up Fess Parker's coonskin cap something awful. Finally, she said: "The New Colossus, huh? Well, how about 'Colossus'? I might pass for that."

This idea was bruted about, with mixed reviews. Other ideas were given--Jean rather liked "Juggernaut", as she felt that Maria could smack down any force that got in her way--but no consensus was reached. By the time Maria finally had her piece of cake, she was feeling relaxed and sky-high, after some of the tensions of the day.

* * *

Charles Xavier was sitting in his study. He was exhausted, but satisfied. On the whole, he thought, the day had gone well. And Maria had borne it stoically.

He heard sounds coming from the kitchen, and he smiled to himself. An Initiation Party. And well-deserved, in this case.

Charles picked up a sheet of papers, notes and observations from the day's work. Where to begin to digest all this? There was the girl herself. Seventeen years old. Six foot tall, exactly. In her mutant state, her "normal" state, she weighed precisely three hundred pounds. Charles couldn't decide if this was grossly high, or absurdly low. For her physical strength was immense--many, many times that of a normal human.

He turned to some of his papers--the notes Richards had given him concerning Ben Grimm, in his physical state as the so-called "Thing". He read what Richards said concerning Grimm's strength, its limits and capabilities. The tests he ran on Maria today...as far as he could tell, she was nearly a match for The Thing's strength in her "natural" form. Which was extraordinary--Grimm was one of the strongest mortals on Earth. And Maria was only seventeen. He sighed. God knew what the girl would be like when she was twenty-five.

He consulted his notes again. She could stretch her body, mold it pretty much to her will. But she could not so everything with it that Reed Richards, say, could do with his elastic body. He had tried to get Maria to flatten herself to the floor, to get as close to being two-dimensional as she could. And she was unable to do this. She managed to get down to about three inches in breadth, and even that for only a small space of time. And conversely, she was able to grow to about thirty feet in height--but still weighing three hundred pounds, so she was dangerously low in mass at that state, and as weak as a kitten.

But here was where it got bizarre. She then started to Shift for him--and each of the Shift states had their own physical rules. When she became a mass of water, she could mold herself into any shape, but only weighed a few pounds. In her diamond form, she weighed a half-ton--and was immensely stronger than even her natural state. About twice as strong, in fact--which, Charles Xavier guessed, made her almost as strong as the Hulk himself when she was in that form. No other Shift form could begin to match that level of strength. Although there was what she called her "Ent Shifts", when she could emulate various trees--she Shifted into an oak, a chestnut, a maple, an evergreen. In these forms, Maria could grow to twenty feet, although her optimum size as an "Ent" was more like eight feet. In these states, she was about half-way between her natural level of strength, and her diamond form.

It got even stranger. She could become a figure of pure helium, and other gases. She was virtually weightless in these states, and able to float in the air. She could Shift into forms of animals--she became a lion and tiger and bear--("Oh my!" he thought to himself, and indeed, oh my...) In these states, Maria was not as heavy as the actual animals themselves, and Charles, remembering her diamond weight, was not entirely sure why. She shifted again into the Bride of Frankenstein, and the Wolf-Man, and King Kong...that accursed statue Robert had made! It had generated all-too-much laughter, Charles thought. But if he was honest with himself, the Shift that startled him the most was a simple Shift into an entirely round globe of glass. Maria had glowed like a star in that state, translucent, shining... He had reached out to touch her, and she felt almost too beautiful to the touch for him to endure.

He threw the papers down, suddenly feeling overwhelmed. None of her Shift states could last longer than a few minutes. Than she reverted to her norm, that is, her natural state. She compared it to a rubber ball that when thrown hard against a wall, would flatten briefly, but inevitably restore itself to its natural configuration. The implications of this, he frankly conceded to himself, escaped him for the moment. There was so much he didn't know yet... If the girl could weigh a half a ton in her diamond form, why on earth couldn't she weigh that much in her "normal" form? In other words, why couldn't she control her mass completely? And why couldn't she utilize any of the strengths she had in any of her Shift forms, when she was "normal"? _Did_ she have this potential, and if so, why hadn't she discovered it yet? She had told him she was quite literally afraid of her own strength--could this be it? A subconscious block, preventing her from utilizing all the abilities she had?

Also--why were the Shift forms so transient? Why couldn't she maintain them as long as she wanted to? Was this something inherent in her power, or another subconscious block? And why couldn't she Shift into a "human" seeming form? She could do the Bride of Frankenstein--why not, say, Marilyn Monroe? Or maybe she could, and didn't--because it _was_ so transient, and that was too painful for her?

He sighed. He was only beginning with her. Just finding all the questions to ask would take months. Well, his sabbatical seemed further away than ever. Lucifer... He mentally shrugged. He would contact the Avengers, he finally decided, and they could deal with him if need be. His place was here.

Charles had remembered Maria's slight hesitation concerning her parents, and he had gently but firmly insisted that she tell him about them. Her mother a mutant, too! That explained so much about the girl's psyche--and her years in the wilderness. The mother actually trying to kill the girl. The pocket universe. He shook his head. And the father--trying to sell the girl! And to Essex, of all people... Charles felt a deep sense of relief, that Maria had at least escaped _that_ fate.

And above all, the fire. At one point, Charles had used the Danger Room scenarios to see how she dealt with various threats. It was very basic, despite her formidable powers--just a look to see how she would react. And once, a ring of fire came through down from the ceiling towards the girl. And she fell to pieces.

"Please!" she cried out, crumpling into a ball on the floor. "Professor--please take it away!" Charles had immediately removed it from the room, and looked as Maria gathered herself together.

"I'm sorry, sir," she said shamefacedly. "But I have a terrible phobia regarding fire. Maybe I should have said this before." She paused. "That would make me a liability in a combat situation, wouldn't it? Do you still want me?"

Charles didn't answer for a few seconds. Then: "Maria? Why are you afraid of fire? Do you know?"

She stood stock still for several moments. "I always have been, sir. I just know that it's the one thing that can harm me. I guess that's why."

Charles' silence was even longer this time. "Maria..." he said slowly. "Maria? Are you listening to me?"

"Yes, sir," she answered.

"Child--fire is no danger to you. It cannot harm you in the least. You could hike through a forest fire and not feel it."

Maria looked as if she had been struck across the face. "That's--that's impossible, sir!"

"It is not," he answered. "I have examined you very carefully in your normal state. Girl--you are totally resistant to fire. Let me show you." He produced a flame in the room again, albeit a small one. It came closer and closer to Maria.

"Put out your hand, Maria," he said. "Easy! I assure you, there's no danger. Slowly extend your arm towards it." Very reluctantly she did so, and then, with a puzzled frown on her face, she brought her hand even closer.

"Professor--nothing is happening!" she cried out, in a strange combination of terror and ecstasy. "I"m not even feeling it!"

"Of course not, child," he said softly. "You are totally immune to the fire. I'll increase it. Walk right through the fire, Maria Gianelli!"

Maria did so, and Charles could see an expression of total exultation on her face. "But--but this is impossible, sir! I _can't_ be resistant to fire!"

The fire disappeared from the room. "Why?" he asked her simply.

And Maria Gianelli stopped dead. She seemed to stare off into space. "--I don't know," she finally said. "Professor--I don't know! I just know that fire will destroy me."

"And yet, Maria, it doesn't," he said very gently.

"...No, sir," she replied. "No, it doesn't." She sat down on the floor of the Danger Room and began to cry.

Charles let her get this out of her system for a few moments, and then called her up to where he was, overlooking the Danger Room. When she arrived, she melted into his arms, and he gave her a huge hug. She stood straight up then and said, "Professor--I don't understand this. I don't know why I have this phobia. I don't know why I've simply _assumed_ that fire is dangerous to me. I'm combing my memory, and nothing is coming to me at all."

He nodded. "Then you can't actually recall any bad experiences with fire?"

She shook her head. "No, sir. None. And I'm frankly a little freaked by this, if you'll excuse my saying so."

"Yes, my dear, of course," he answered. "Tell me--were you terrified of fire as a child, before your mutation manifested itself?"

She concentrated. "You know, sir, I don't know?" She looked intently towards some distant mental horizon for a moment. "...No. No, I'm positive I was not. It came to me with my mutation, sir. I realize that now."

And that was where they had left it for the time being. Charles had not asked to probe her mind about this matter, at least for the time being. This, he knew, was another part of her Inviolate Zone, and the reasons for it went so deep that it would require long and exhausting psychic probing. And the girl simply wasn't ready for it yet.

\--And there we were. Maria was a mass of unrealized potential. Already by far the most powerful of the X-Men. His priority for the time being had to be in training her in the powers she had, in the abilities she could manifest with relative ease. But there was so much buried below the surface--like an iceberg. Well, it would emerge when it would emerge.

Meanwhile, he had the psychological and IQ tests to consider. The girl was highly intelligent--nearly as much so as Hank, in her basic gifts. And she had so much odd knowledge! Charles was staggered to learn that she had read Aquinas' entire _Summa Theologia_. And Hobbes' _Leviathan_. And Proust. And H.G. Wells. And Gibbon. And the collected works of both Henry _and_ William James. And so on, and so on...with definite opinions regarding them all. My God, the girl must have spent the entirety of the past four years, when she was avoiding the Torches and Pitchforks, reading. How she got hold of the books was a question he didn't really want to know the answer to. Her knowledge of history was impressive, if slightly less so that of literature. And her scientific knowledge was sketchy, but had odd patches of lay expertise.

He sighed. She was going to be a challenge, all right. In every way. Well---one step at a time. As JFK would have said, a journey of a thousand miles began with a single step. And Maria Gianelli was capable of some giant steps indeed.

* * *

That evening, Jean and Maria were together in Jean's room, talking about the events of the day. Maria was so stuffed she felt almost sick, until she reminded herself sternly that that was impossible for her. Maria was telling Jean about her tests that day, and finally she reluctantly talked about the fire.

Jean heard this out, a look of concern on her face. "And you never knew about this?" she asked when Maria was finished. "That fire _couldn't_ hurt you?"

Maria shook her head. "No. And it's the damndest thing! It's been such a basic part of my life... Jean: there must be something important here. Something I can't put my finger on. But what it is, I can't imagine."

Jean looked thoughtful. "Maria--I wonder if someone might have wiped out part of your memory. Someone like the Professor, but evil. Someone who wouldn't hesitate to use their psychic powers in a terrible way."

Maia shuddered. "Oh, God, Jean--no! I don't think I could take that. Any other explanation. Why would they, anyway?"

Jean shrugged helplessly. "I don't know--maybe it isn't even evil. Maybe it's someone who was trying to help you get over a trauma--maybe you even asked them to."

"No," Maria said, shaking her head firmly. "I'd never ask for that. A psychic electroshock therapy, you mean? No. My memories are sacred to me."

"Then I don't know, Maria," Jean said. Jean thought for a moment about Annie Richardson, and considered telling Maria about that incident. No--that could wait. She wanted to digest what Maria told her, think if she could find some solution, before telling her about that. But that she _would_ tell Maria about Annie, she already took for granted. The two of them would have no secrets from each other.

( _Even Scott?_ a voice in her head said. _You're going to tell Maria about_ _him_ _?)_

( _Shut up!_ Jean told the voice in her head. _Yes--in time. Even that.)_

( _Surrre you are,_ the voice said as it faded away. _Well, darn it, I_ _am_ _!_ Jean said firmly to herself.)

* * *

And in a dark room somewhere, a lone figure sighed to itself. _Xavier has begun probing the girl--physically, mentally, emotionally. I hope he knows what he's doing. He should. If anyone can do this without disaster, Charles Xavier can. Is there any way I can help him? No. Not now, anyway. I shall have to trust him._

The figure looked out at the night. The stars were bright and shining in this remote part of the world. Those stars reminded the figure of the stakes in all this. _The fire. Xavier has begun to detect it. He has no idea as yet what it means, of course. Any more than the girl Maria herself. I pray that he never does--at least, not until the time is right. Then the fire will purge. Then Maria Gianelli shall know her true destiny. And not just her. Jean Grey's fire will also come forth in due course. And that will light the Universe._

The figure started. A shooting star! That must be a sign... It looked out at the night, but saw no more. _A lone shooting star. Alone against the night. Perhaps that is what I am...shooting towards a dark and unknown destination. Well, I shall find that out when the time comes. I know I have a destiny. Like Maria. Like Jean. Like all of them. The fire--it is good that Maria does not yet know what it means. She could not handle the truth. In time, perhaps. But not yet. And as for Jean Grey--_ The figure shut the window and came back into the room. _Her fire is so different from Maria's--and it's meaning is so uniquely hers. No, there is no one like Jean, and thank God for that. But Maria--_ _is_ _her fire really all that different? In its essence? Perhaps I need to think upon this some more. For now, what matters is that she--and Xavier--have the first inklings of the truth. But it's only inklings. Xavier will probe her mind, trying to find the root of some 'phobia' connected to fire. That will waste his time. And that suits me, for now._


	6. Interviews

Chapter Six

* * *

The next morning, Charles Xavier asked all the X-Men into his study, one at a time. Scott Summers came first. As always, he was quiet and withdrawn as he entered the room, waiting for Charles to initiate the discussion.

"Please sit down, Scott," Charles said, and the boy did. "Thank you. First of all--what do you think of Maria?"

Scott frowned slightly, as if this wasn't he had expected Charles to ask him first. "I think, sir, she's going to be an invaluable additon to the team. She makes us much more powerful."

Charles stared right into his visor. "Yes. She certainly does that. Tell me, Scott--is that an entirely good thing?"

Scott's frown grew deeper. "Sir?" he said, clearly confused.

"Scott--does the team _need_ more power? The five of you have achieved a very high level of cohesion and teamwork with your variety of skills. Would a new member who dominated the rest of you in terms of sheer strength put the chemistry of the team out of whack?"

"Oh!" Scott said, putting his hand on his chin. "I see what you mean, sir... No. No, I don't believe so. Maria's powers seem very, well, 'versatile' is the word I'd use. I should say she can handle herself under almost any imaginable situation she'd find herself in. That would be immensely useful to the team. No, I don't believe she'd upset any chemistry. Especially considering how well she seems to be fitting in here. We're all fond of her, sir."

"Ah--that was going to be my next question, Scott. She _is_ fitting in?"

Scott did something remarkable--he smiled slightly. "Oh, yes, sir. We had an initiation party last night." Scott told Charles a little of what had transpired. "She's gutty, Professor. The best jokes about her appearance are made by her. It might be a self-defense mechanism to some extent, but she's handling it a lot better than _I_ would."

"As opposed to, say, having a force beam you could never shut off?" Charles asked, and Scott started slightly, then smiled ruefully.

"Yes, sir. I see your point. But at least I can still go out in the world. Frankly, I don't see how Maria can. She's spent the past four years wandering free--I just wonder how this is going to work out for her."

"As do I," Charles said. "But your words hearten me, Scott. It seems that Maria is already becoming one of you. Do you all feel that way?"

There was the slightest hesitation. "Bobby will grow up, Professor."

"Ah," Charles said, almost to himself. "I wondered about that. Perhaps if I had a talk with the boy--"

But he stopped, because Scott was shaking his head. "I'd strongly advise against it, sir. Give Bobby a little time. If he falls in, well and good. If not--well, sir, it'll be taken care of."

Charles just nodded, but inside, he felt a strong sense of satisfaction. Let the team handle this in their own way. The fact that Scott was already thinking along these lines was a very good sign indeed. Charles preferred not to interfere unless it became absolutely necessary.

He changed the subject. "Scott--you know that the five of you--Jean, Warren, Hank, Bobby, and yourself--are set to formally graduate from the School proper in a very few weeks."

Scott nodded. "Yes, sir."

"So--the real purpose of my little inquisition today is to sound you all out on where we go from here. Professor Xavier's School for Gifted Youngsters is one thing. The X-Men are something else altogether. Does the team continue? How many of you are preparing to stay? All? None? Do we continue scholastic training here, on a college level? And those of you who have families, parents--what are their wishes in this regard? Should the X-Men continue with the five of you, or should I look to revamp the entire team, with Maria as the nucleus? You see what we need to decide, Scott?"

Scott was silent for a long time. "Yes, sir," he said slowly. "You're sure looking at the larger picture."

"I must, Scott. That's my duty. I might say, I had been preparing a sabbatical for myself when the five of you graduated. I'm tired, and wanted some time to myself. And I also had pressing personal business. But that must now wait. Maria's presence creates an entirely new set of circumstances. I must help her, as I did all of you. And her history and powers make her perhaps the most difficult job of them all. Still, I must admit it has energized me. I'm feeling enthusiastic and up for the task. But the question I must ask, Scott--and ask it of you first--is: what are your plans?"

Scott rose, went to the window overlooking the garden. He stood there, his hands linked behind his back, for a good five minutes, as the silence between him and Charles grew more and more deafening. He then shrugged his shoulders, and returned to the chair.

"Sir, I must admit--I had been planning to leave the X-Men."

Charles nodded. "I had thought as much. Your eyes." It was a statement, not a question.

"Yes, sir," the boy replied. "I had thought of consulting specialists, the greatest men in their fields, seeing if there was any way I could rid myself of the curse I bear. Or, if not rid myself of it, at least control it."

Charles looked at Scott with a poker face, but his heart was breaking. "My dear boy--I've failed you in this regard. I thought, when I first recruited you, _I_ might be able to help. But nothing has worked."

Scott looked shocked. "Professor? Please-- _you_ haven't failed. You've done everything you could. My God, sir, you've done so much for me--for all of us--"

"Yet I've failed," he said, with a trace of bitterness.

"Sir--this really isn't your field of expertise. No one man can know everything. I had thought perhaps to begin by consulting Dr Richards, and Dr Pym. As fellow super-heroes, I thought they might be persuaded to take an interest in my case."

The sense of his heart breaking almost overwhelmed Charles. "Scott--if this is truly what you want, then I will not hold you back. I could make some phone calls, and you could see both of those gentlemen this very day, if you so choose. But consider this--we're not talking about some illness. Your power is built into your very genes. It is _part_ of you. Dealing with any aspect of it would prove to be extremely difficult--far more so, in my view, than trying to rid Ben Grimm, say, of the curse that makes him The Thing." He saw the boy's head droop slightly, and he spoke more urgently. "Scott, I do not say this to discourage you. But you are a mutant, and being a mutant means having to face reality. And what I have said _is_ reality--for you. Do you understand this?"

"Yes, sir," he said, his voice unchanged, but Charles felt he could sense something in his posture, his bearing--a sense of defeat. Charles went on quickly:

"Scott, it is my belief that you should remain at the school. With the X-Men. I shall give you my reasons, and we can discuss them if you choose. Then, whatever your decision, I shall support it one-hundred per cent." Scott nodded, as if the logic of this were self-evident.

"Very well. You are right--I have been remiss in my attention to your dilemma. No," Charles said, hand raised, as Scott started to protest. "No, my boy. I know you have not said that--but it is what I tell myself, after hearing your words. I judge myself, Scott. And I see my own culpability. Scott--whatever happens, you shall have your consultations. Indeed, they are long overdue. I have Dr Richards' notes regarding Ben Grimm, and with that as a link between us, there is no reason you cannot see him. And Dr Pym, as well. And there are--others." For a moment, Charles was tempted to tell Scott about Moira MacTaggert and Muir Island, but decided against it. That would come in time, when it was ready to come. "But it is my hope that you shall do this within the context of the X-Men. And for a very simple reason, Scott. With the rest of you graduating, and Maria just beginning, she shall need much of my attention. The team shall of necessity be forced to fight without my guiding hand--and mind--sometimes. When that happens, they shall need a field leader." He paused, and looked at Scott. "I am determined that that leader shall be _you,_ Scott Summers."

Scott looked surprised. "Me, sir? Why me? The Beast is a better scholar--and the Angel is more aggressive--"

"Perhaps. But it is _you_ who has the quality known as leadership. My decision on this has been made, Scott."

Scott rose again, and paced across the room for few a moments. But Charles could tell that the boy's decision had already been made. Finally, Scott sighed, and ran his hand through his hair.

"Professor--you make it a matter of duty. That isn't playing fair."

Charles risked a slight smile. "My dear boy--I said nothing I don't believe 100%."

Scott grinned. "I know, sir. But you know what my answer is, anyway--without reading my mind."

Charles' smile grew broader. "I think so, lad." And Scott extended his hand across the desk, and Charles Xavier took it.

* * *

Jean Grey was the next student to see Charles. He invited her in, and she sat on the chair, wearing a white summer sleeveless dress that accentuated her figure. Charles smiled at her.

"My dear--as you know, you, Bobby, Hank, Warren, and Scott are going to be formally graduating from the School soon."

"Yes, sir," she said, nodding slightly as if she had guessed what he was going to ask her.

"And as a result, we have to think about the future. Are any of you leaving? Going to college? What do your parents think? We have to--"

But Charles stopped, because Jean put her hand up to forestall him. "Excuse me, Professor, but I believe we can save some time here. I'm staying. Period. If you'll have me."

Charles smiled. "My dear Jean! Of course I want you here--for as long as you want. But may I ask why you're so certain in your course?"

She smiled slightly, and Charles' heart skipped a beat. His relief and pleasure at her decision almost overwhelmed him. "The simple answer, sir, is that I gave Maria my word. I told you about her--well, recruitment. And I thank you, for honoring my request not to probe it mentally. But it's really that simple, in its basics. I told Maria I would be here. That we X-Men were here for each other. I would not be foresworn."

Charles closed his eyes, so she couldn't see the tears that were on the verge of breaking out, tears caused by his pride in, and love for, this girl. "And how do you find her, Jean? What do you feel about Maria?"

"I love her like a sister. I knew it that first moment I heard her calling out to me, when she broke through my telepathic blackout--and I heard her." The sheer simplicity in her voice as she said this undid Charles for a moment, and he _did_ feel tears rolling down his cheek. Jean saw them.

"Sir--? Are you all right?" she said, starting to rise from her chair. He waved her back down.

"No, no, my child," he said softly. "I'm fine. My dear Jean--I might never have been more 'fine' in my entire life, than I am in this moment. I feel that everything I've done, all I've tried to accomplish with all of you--all of it has been vindicated. By you."

She was quiet for a second, then gently put her hand across the desk and grasped his own in it. "Yes, sir," she said. And after a moment: "Professor--Maria will need me here. And I'm glad that you aren't leaving, as you were planning to do."

Charles was stunned. "What? Jean--how did you know--?"

Jean smiled broadly. "Nothing supernatural, sir--or even telepathic. Just things I've noticed, sensed--you can call it 'woman's intuition' if you choose. But it's right? You _were_ thinking of leaving for a while?"

He nodded. "Yes, Jean. And Maria's presence has changed my mind." He paused, looked at the girl soberly. "Jean--Maria is, I believe, the greatest challenge I have ever faced. More so than Scott, and his terrible curse that he can't ever be rid of. Greater even than you, and the burden you felt when experiencing the death of Annie Richardson. Her powers are so remarkable...and the demons she has in her past..." Charles stopped, because Jean was reacting in a very strange manner. The way she turned her face slightly, how she gripped the arms of the chair-- Charles realized, in that moment, that Jean knew something about Maria that he did not. And that this was connected both to Maria's "Inviolate Zone", and Jean's request to him that he not probe her recruitment of Maria. He had to make an instant decision, and it was the only one he could make--respect their privacy, and his promises. But his regard for Jean rose even more. Yes--she was an adult. And taking on adult responsibilities. _Child--and I should stop calling you that--I know you know what you're doing. If anyone does, it's you. I'll know when it's right for me to know._

"It's going to be a very challenging job, Jean--having Maria here. One that will require my presence. And my full attention. I had been considering a sabbatical, but that must wait for now." He paused, and smiled at her. "Having you here to help means more than I can say, Jean."

She shrugged lightly, but Charles could tell she was pleased by his words. "Yes, sir. And also, I've been thinking more and more. In time, there will be more Marias. More young mutants who will come along and need our help." She sat upright in her chair, as if she was steeling herself to say something. She looked him right in his eyes. "Professor--you won't be able to do all this on your own. More and more, I've been thinking that my future is right here--at the Mansion, at the School, and of course with the X-Men. Sir--I'm in this for the long haul, if you want me."

Charles Xavier thought for a moment that he was going to faint. _If I want you. My God!_ The feelings that washed over him--an immense joy, relief, love for this girl, and determination to keep on working, to make this all something that would be worthy of her--these all hit him like a wave. But all he could say was, "my dear Jean, this is your home. Now, or as far into the future as you desire. If you ever need to leave for awhile, you can do so and come back at any time, no questions asked. But I'm gratified more than I can say by what you've just told me. It makes me feel that I haven't been working in vain."

She smiled. "I gather that that's a 'yes', then?"

He just nodded. "Indeed," he said. "But Jean--your parents. They're still your guardians...what will _they_ say?"

Her smile grew. "Oh, I think I can handle them. They might want me to go to a college or something--but we'll figure something out."

Charles nodded. "Yes, Jean. And I have some ideas about that, if it ever becomes an issue. After all, they know--or at least suspect--certain things about you."

Jean looked solemn for a moment. "What they suspect I really can't say. They do know that you were able to help me when no one else could. But maybe that's become a negative for them--that I've come to depend on you too much, like a drug. I don't know. There might be some issues here. But I think I can deal with it, sir."

Charles looked at her. "I've been considering instituting college-level courses here, Jean, for those of you who wish to stay. That would help. And of course, some of our guest lecturers..."

Jean laughed out loud. "Would impress anybody. Especially Dad. You can get people Bard College never dreamed of."

Charles actually chuckled slightly. "We can only hope, my dear." He paused, took out his pipe and lit it, and said off-handedly: "Incidentally, Scott is remaining."

Her face only gave her away for the tiniest fraction of a second. It was enough, but Charles pretended he didn't notice. "Oh?" was all she said.

"Indeed," he said, giving Jean a recap of his discussion with Scott. "I take it that you approve my decision, Jean? Making him the field leader?"

"Oh, yes," she said, nodding enthusiastically. "It was the obvious choice, sir. This will have a good effect on all of us, I think."

"Excellent, Jean," Charles said. "That means I can concentrate on Maria more, as well."

"Yes, sir," Jean said, a hint of mischief in her voice. "But, Professor--? I can tell you one thing. Maria has no intention of staying on the sidelines for long. She's going to be out with the rest of us before you know it."

Charles shrugged. "I can only do what I can do, Jean. And Maria is certainly--determined. We'll see how things turn out." He took a puff on his pipe. "And she is settling in well?"

"Oh, yes," Jean said. "We're all falling in love with her."

" 'All' ?" Charles asked gently. "No issues on anyone's part?"

Jean hesitated, then spoke forthrightly. "Well, sir, to be honest, Bobby is acting like a jerk. Don't worry about it. If need be, the situation will be dealt with."

Charles winced inside. He would not want to be Robert right about now. The sheer, earnest determination in Jean's voice impressed him. "Scott said something similar," he replied. "Let's hope it doesn't come to that."

"No, sir. Just let us worry about it."

* * *

Charles called in Bobby Drake next. He thought this was necessary, after hearing what Scott and Jean had to say. The boy seemed at ease as he came into the room and sat down in front of the desk.

"Robert," Charles said, "as you know, the five of you--Scott, Jean, Henry, Warren, and yourself--will be formally graduating from this school soon. At that point, we all have decisions to make regarding the future. Have you considered this at all?"

Bobby looked startled. " 'Decisions', sir? You mean--are you saying you're going to break up the team, or anything like that?"

Charles' face remained immobile as he spoke. "I doubt it will come to that, Robert. But we do have to consider the facts. Your father remains in something of a state of denial about your mutant abilities, and wants you to go to college and become an accountant. Is this not so?"

Bobby shrugged. "Dad isn't the easiest person in the world to understand, sir. At this point, I think he's be happier just to have me out of his hair, so he doesn't have to think about all this."

Charles nodded. "Yes, I see that, my boy...and your mother? How does she feel?"

Bobby had a pained expression come over his face. "Frankly, sir, I've never scooped Mom out. She's a bit passive, lets Dad make the decisions for them both...though she'll talk for an hour before he makes it. But I'm sure she wants the best for me. She just doesn't know what that is."

"Yes," Charles said slowly. "Well, Bobby, we have to figure that out for ourselves. What do you want? Would you like to remain here, if I continue the School on a college level? And do you wish to remain an X-Man?"

Bobby nodded. " 'Yes' to both questions, Professor. No ifs, ands, or buts about it. I'll be here as long as you want me, sir."

Charles smiled to himself. The sense of loyalty these young people had--to each other, and to his vision--heartened him. "Bobby--I had intended to take a sabbatical after your graduation. I needed some rest, and I had personal issues I needed to deal with. But the arrival of Maria has changed things. I shall be remaining. I have a duty to her now which I shall not shirk. But as a result of this, I've deemed that the X-Men need a field leader to take charge when I'm not able to view their progress. I have chosen Cyclops for this role, and he has accepted."

Bobby nodded, as if the logic of this was self-evident. "That's a perfect choice, sir. Cyke will do the job just fine. We'll all be behind him."

"Excellent," Charles said. "Jean, too, has indicated a desire to remain. And I have yet to talk to Hank and Warren."

"That's great news about Jeannie, sir. And I'm sure that Hank and Warren will stay. We're a team, after all."

Charles smiled. "That's excellent to hear you say that, Bobby." He paused, and said almost off-handedly: "And how about Maria? Is she settling in well?"

Bobby shrugged. "I guess so, sir. It's a little strange. I mean, when the rest of us go to the Coffee-a-Go-Go, what's _she_ going to do? Is she going to be happy, never being able to appear in public? Is she going to hide in the attic or something, when our families come to visit? And how long will she be happy here, if she does have to do that?"

Charles frowned sightly. The questions were good ones, and it would be natural that Bobby--all of them--were asking them. But Charles could feel resistance in Bobby's thoughts--he made just the slightest mental probe of the boy, and he could sense that resistance. No, he was not comfortable with Maria's presence here. Charles sensed no overt hostility to Maria personally, but he could feel the boy's ambivalence. He almost opened his mouth to bring the subject up, but thought better of it. Perhaps he merely needed time to adjust. Better not open any wounds unnecessarily. And he remembered Scott's words--if a problem persisted, let the students deal with it.

"Well, we'll have to see how she adjusts," was all he said in reply. "But what about her as a potential X-Man? Do you think she'll work out in the field?"

Bobby smiled. "Oh, yes sir! She's plenty tough. I can't wait to see Magneto's face, when she appears the next time we face him and his band." This was a good answer, from Charles' point of view, and it ended the interview. And the boy was right--it _would_ be interesting to see Eric's reaction to Maria standing with the X-Men...

* * *

Hank McCoy entered the room with deliberate movements, nodded to the Professor, and sat down in the chair. "You wished to see me, sir?"

Charles paused briefly. Hank was the most intelligent, and the most mature, of them all. In some ways, Charles trusted his judgment the most, with the possible exception of Jean. He was very interested in what this interview would elucidate.

"Henry," he said, "with the impending graduation of the five of you from the School proper, I thought it would be a good time to discuss the future. Of the School, and of the X-Men."

Hank nodded, as if he had been expecting this. "Yes, sir," he said. "I've been thinking of this myself."

"Excellent," Charles said. "That expedites matters. Have you made any decisions yet?"

Hank shook his head. "No, sir. I wanted to wait until I heard from you. Have _you_ made any decisions yet?"

Charles nodded. "I have, Henry. I had been planning on taking a sabbatical from the School--travel the world, and attend to some personal business. But Maria's arrival has changed all that. She has such tremendous potential--but it's as yet utterly unrealized. Realizing that is my job, and it shall take most of my time and attention. Therefore, obviously, I shall not be leaving as I had planned. In addition, my work with her might necessitate the X-Men finding themselves in combat situations where I cannot be present mentally. In lieu of that, I have appointed Cyclops the field leader of the team. He has accepted, I'm pleased to say."

Hank smiled. "Indeed, sir. A most felicitous choice. And the natural one. I'd have been shocked had you chosen anyone else."

Charles risked a slight smile. "Oh, Henry? Even you?"

Hank laughed out loud. " _Especially_ me, sir. Forgive me. But I can readily see myself taking orders from Scott in the field. I can't see him taking orders from me."

"I appreciate your honesty, Henry. You know yourself. What you can and cannot do. That is an invaluable gift."

He nodded. "Thank you, sir. I give much of the credit for that to you."

"Nonsense, Henry. In many ways, you have advanced the furthest of all my students. Your potential is extraordinary. And that brings me back to my question--what are _your_ plans? _Do_ you intend to stay here, or move on?"

Hank was silent for a minute. "Professor--I must admit to mixed feelings. I should like to do what you have done--go through college, and get a doctorate. I have ambitions in the scientific world, and I'm not going to lie about having them. But at the same time, the X-Men are my family. I feel that they--you--are, and shall always be, my primary loyalty. I want to have my cake and eat it, too."

Charles smiled wistfully. "Not always so easily done, I'm afraid... My dear Hank, your scientific ambitions do you great credit. And your aptitude for them is manifest. Let me further clarify the situation. Jean and Bobby are remaining as well. Both feel that the X-Men are their lives, and I welcome them with open arms. In pursuant to that, I intend to revamp the School to make it a college-level institution. I can assure you that the level of study you'd find here for the next few years would compare to anything you'd find at any institution of higher learning, even the Ivy League schools. You're aware of the--well, exalted, if I do say so, nature of some of the lecturers and teachers I've brought here. This would be continued as your instruction went to the next level. And I think I could guarantee that you'd have no trouble getting into any post-graduate program you wanted, when the time came. Or, should you wish to leave at any time in the interim, that of course would be an option. It would be entirely up to you."

Hank heard this out carefully. "Well, sir, I'm delighted to hear about Bobby and Jean. What you say sounds almost too good to be true--as if I really _am_ having my cake and eating it, too. I rather think I'll just say 'yes' before you change your mind."

Charles smiled broadly, and he and Hank shook hands. "Professor," Hank said, "I meant it when I said this school and you were my primary loyalty. If I ever _should_ leave to pursue other goals, all you need do is give a call if you have an emergency, and I'll come running. That goes without saying, surely."

Charles nodded. "Of course. Meanwhile, I'm very happy to have you here, Hank. More than you can know."

Hank nodded gently. "Of course, sir. But really, all I'm doing is going with the flow. I'm hoping this just isn't a giant exercise in avoiding taking responsibility for my life."

"Oh, Hank...have I let you down that much?"

Hank looked at Charles, and the two of them laughed out loud. "Well, Professor," Hank finally said, "for better or worse, I _am_ here for the foreseeable future. And I have no doubt but that Warren will say the same thing."

"I hope so," Charles answered. Then: "Henry? What about Maria. Is she fitting in?"

To Charles' astonishment, there was a slight pause before Hank answered--a pause that lasted exactly as long as Jean's when he had told her about Scott's remaining at the school. _My God, is it possible? Hank? And Maria? So soon? And yet, they're so well-matched in so many ways..._

To Charles' even greater astonishment, Hank cleared his throat and said in a low voice: "Professor, do you think I resemble Scott to any marked degree?"

Charles didn't even try to hide his surprise at this question. "Henry, I think I can say in all honesty that there probably aren't two people on the face of this earth less alike than you and Scott Summers."

"Good. Then I can tell you this--sir, one of the benefits of attending this institution is watching the delicate minuet that Scott and Jean dance with each other. Each of them crazy about the other, and both too full of teen-aged angst to do anything sensible, like tell each other. You have seen this." It was a statement, not a question, and Charles nodded his head.

"Of course," he said. "But it is no business of mine."

"Or mine, sir. I observe, and wait for it to play itself out to whatever will come of it in the end. Meanwhile, it adds to the gaiety of nations, and cuts us all to the bone just a little bit every day, to see two people whom we all love as miserable as this. And I've told myself-- 'Henry, my lad, this will never happen to _you_. You're too sensible to fall in love. And if, by some terrible mishap, you _do_ fall in love, you're not going to sit there like a wooden Indian and keep your mouth shut about it'. No, Professor, that was never in the cards for _me_."

Charles just remained silent, letting the boy talk. This was the most intimate discussion he had ever had with any of his students, and he was slightly nonplussed. But it was taking on a life of its own, and he had to remain alert as never before so that he could be prepared to help in any way that he could.

Hank shook his head, and ran his large fingers through his hair. "Professor--I feel like I've been pole-axed. As if someone had given me an exploding cigar, and I smoked it and--well--it exploded. Professor--I believe I am in love with Maria Gianelli."

Charles bowed his head slightly, as a sign of respect for Hank's courage in saying this. "I think that's admirable, son. More than admirable. She is a wonderful girl. She has amazing potential--as a person, and an X-Man. She's worthy of anyone's love."

Hank suddenly seemed subdued, as if he was sorry he had spoken to Charles in the manner he had. "Yes, sir. There's no doubt of that at all. But I scarcely know her. She doesn't know me at all. And I'm afraid--mortally terrified would be a better term--that she'd regard any feelings I had--anyone had--as pity. And I am a total neophyte in this, and don't have the slightest idea how to proceed. And of course, she doesn't need anything distracting her from all she needs to do, to study, to learn, in her training. And of course, we couldn't so much as take a walk together outside the confines of the estate. And of course, the others can't suspect a thing about this. I would be so mortified by my _own_ teen-age angst that I would be forced to leave. I'm very serious about that."

Charles leaned over and took Hank's large hand into his. "Son--this discussion will never leave this room."

"Of course, sir. But it is disconcerting nonetheless, to discover that Scott and I have more in common that I could have imagined... So there we are. Professor--I am not asking you for advice. This is something which I shall deal with, a day, a minute at a time. But I thought you needed to know the situation. Why, I'm not entirely sure. But there we are."

Charles hardly knew what to say. He wished he could have opened a vein and bled, if it would help this young man in any way. But all he said was: "I'm honored by your confidence, son. All I can suggest is what you said--time. Let it take its course. Let her get to know you. At the school, and in time, in the field. And who knows what time will bring--in all sorts of matters?"

Hank nodded slowly, and left the office. Charles needed a few minutes before calling Warren in.

* * *

"Thank you for waiting, Warren," Charles said as the blond young man sat down in the chair across from him.

"No problem, Professor," Warren said. "It's a hectic time in a lot of ways. You're busy with everyone and everything. We're all at your disposal."

"Thank you. Well, I'll give you the speech I've given the others. As you know, the five of you are about to graduate formally from the School..."

Warren put his hand up. "Sir--if you'll excuse me, I think I can save wasting your time. I'm staying. Period, end of sentence. I've known this discussion was coming, and I've known what my answer was going to be. Does that satisfy you, Professor?"

Charles smiled. "Eminently so, my boy. That is a great load off my mind. You might be pleased to know that all five of you have agreed to stay."

Warren shrugged. "Pleased, sir, yes. Surprised, no."

Charles nodded. "Very good." This next part might be tricky-- "Son--I had planned to leave for awhile, take a sabbatical. Rest, attend to some personal affairs. But Maria's presence has changed that. I have an obligation to her now, and thus, I shall be remaining myself. But I also might not be able to be mentally present with you in the field at all times. As a result, I've decided--"

But Warren was smiling, and put up his hand. "Oh, please, sir. We need not waste any time _here,_ either. Scott is the team leader. I totally approve. He's the obvious choice."

Charles frowned slightly. "You have no issues with this, Warren?"

"None whatever, sir. And I mean that. Cyke is a bit intense for me, but he's always thinking. He's a natural strategist. Me, I'd probably be thinking a bit too much about blondes and brunettes to give my leadership duties my full attention."

Charles smiled to himself. He suspected that Warren was making light of this in order to put Charles' mind at ease--but it was nonetheless sincere on the boy's part. Good. There was one less thing for him to worry about.

Then it hit him-- Warren. Thinking about "blondes and brunettes". But not redheads-- Oh my. Had he conceded _there,_ too?

"Fine," was all he said out loud. "Now, Warren--Maria. What do you think of her? Is she going to fit in?"

"She already _is_ fitting in, Professor," he answered. "Sir--that girl has guts. A lot of them. She has brains. And she's going to be an invaluable asset in the field. We're going to be a whole different team with her. To be perfectly honest, Professor--I've always felt that Magneto and his band had us outgunned, in terms of sheer firepower. Not any more. I'd say we stack up against any super-team in the world, as soon as she's ready."

Charles smiled. "Son--I'm inclined to agree."

Warren paused for a second. "Professor Xavier...? I _like_ Maria. A lot. We need to do right by her."

Charles looked proudly at Warren. "I swear to you, son-we're going to."

* * *

Charles Xavier was deep in thought after Warren left. The interviews, while eminently satisfactory in many ways--the very fact that all of them were staying--nonetheless left him troubled. Hank McCoy had bared his soul to him, and Charles realized, with something of a shock, that he probably knew less of Hank--what made him tick--than he did any of his other students. Shaking his head, he called Maria into his office. He could only do what he could do. That was going to be effort enough, God knew--

The girl came into his office. She was wearing a gray turtle-neck sweater and white slacks. Did they become her? Was this even a relevant question? Charles sighed to himself. A great many things about her simply weren't going to fit into neat patterns. He--she--they--were going to have to learn all this, or maybe unlearn was a better word, a day at a time.

"Yes, sir," she said, a neutral look on her face--or at least, Charles thought it was a neutral look. Even something as basic as her face...he wasn't sure if it registered feeling the way "normal" faces did. That unfinished look to it-- Well, again, this would have to work itself out.

"Maria," he said, "I'm pleased to announce that all the other students are remaining here, after their formal graduation in a couple of weeks. I was not sure of this, especially in the case of Henry McCoy. But they all feel that this is their home for now, and they are all committed to the X-Men."

She nodded, that blank, impenetrable expression on her face. "I'm glad, sir. I'd hate to come here, and see the rest all swept up to hell and gone." There was a definite smile now. "I'd feel like I was responsible, you know?"

Charles smiled. Had there been a reaction, when he mentioned Hank's name? He thought so--he had gone out of his way to casually say the boy's name, to see if she did respond. But he couldn't be sure... "There's no need for you to feel that way, Maria. In fact, there was a unanimity of enthusiasm for your presence here." That was essentially true, and he didn't want to even think of Robert right now. She seemed to take this at face value--but again, how could he be sure? "So, we go forward. And you'll begin your training with the others very soon."

"I'm looking forward to it, sir," she said. "I've got a lot on the ball--there's not any point in pretending otherwise, is there? But I'm as green as a pea. Put me out there now, and God knows what might happen."

Charles risked a slight smile. "Indeed, Maria. And it's good to hear you say this. You have, if I may say, a strong streak of common sense."

She shrugged, but Charles could tell she was pleased. "Just survival instinct, sir. It's been forced on me these past few years. Fending for myself. The Torches and Pitchforks. Belknapping. You learn to deal with things."

Charles blinked. " 'Belknapping', Maria? I'm sorry, but that is not a word I'm familiar with."

"Oh!", she said, putting her rough hands to her face. "Oh, I guess you're not, at that, Professor. It's just a term I invented... Once, when I was up in Belknap County, New Hampshire--and this was early in my adventures--I was hungry and, well, 'liberated' some of the contents of a picnic basket." She paused, and said plaintively: "I didn't take everything, sir."

Charles almost laughed in the girl's face at her sheer earnestness. "So--to 'belknap' came to mean--"

"Well--OK," she said with a shake of the head. "Professor, to 'belknap' means to steal food."

"I see," he said thoughtfully, but still feeling the urge to laugh. He had noticed the girl occasionally using odd words, or everyday words in slightly different contexts. And her way of speaking, the rhythm of her words, sounded just slightly "off" to his ears. She wasn't untalkative--indeed, she was voluble. But he wondered if her long period of isolated wanderings had had its effects on her mode of speaking. And, he confessed with a mental sigh, some of this could just be the unusual tonality of her voice, which made even everyday idioms sound just a little strange. "Well, Maria, a young mutant on her own, with no guidance whatsoever, had to do what she could to survive. Just consider Magneto and his band, to see what isolation and fear of humanity can make out of some of us."

"Thank you, sir," she replied, and Charles could tell she was slightly embarrassed by the subject. He smiled to himself again. To "belknap", indeed! He wondered what other private words were in the girl's vocabulary. Possibly a good many. She had a very vivid imagination, and had read much more these past few years than she had talked. Perhaps that was why she _was_ so voluble now--she simply had the opportunity to talk.

"Now, Maria--in many ways, you're much more intellectually advanced than the average seventeen-year old." The entirety of the _Summa Theologia!_ Charles could still scarcely believe it. "In other ways, you're very much behind. Frankly, simply as a student you represent unique challenges. It should be obvious, I hope, that we're going to be concentrating upon those areas in which you're lacking."

She nodded, all common-sense. "Of course, Professor. What do you think our first priority should be?"

He paused. "Well, Maria, your biggest gap seems to be in the sciences. Oh, you have a good lay knowledge of general scientific trends--" The girl had a good lay knowledge of everything-- "but I think we'd both agree that you need training in mathematics, so you can understand physics and chemistry. And I insist that all of my students have something more than the average high school training in biology. Here, a 'lay' knowledge is not good enough. I also want you to get a speaking knowledge of at least one foreign language. You can read something in French and German." Yes, Charles thought, plowing through _Remembrance of Things Past_ and _The Magic Mountain_ represented a pretty good reading knowledge of French and German. But she had been able to read them to some degree even before her mutation appeared.

"I'm ready, Professor," she said, a slight smile on her face. "Jean has said that we have some intriguing guest lecturers. Can you tell me something of them?"

"All in good time," he said, smiling in return. "We wouldn't want to spoil the surprise. Although I can say that one will be here in just a couple of days, if you can wait."

"I'll try, sir," she said, her face and voice--as much as he could tell--having a hint of amused stoicism in them. He frowned to himself. Not being able to "read" her, as one could a "normal" person--and God forgive him, for even thinking that word!--was going to make things difficult. It was going to be hard to avoid the temptation of being lazy and using his psychic powers, at least on the surface of her thoughts, to make up for it.

She seemed thoughtful. "Professor Xavier--I've been thinking about something. Just what _is_ the goal of my 'academic' training, as opposed to my X-Men training? You mentioned that the others were all staying. But that implies that they have the option of _not_ staying. I know we've discussed the ground rules for my being here, and I accept them. But, Professor--let's face it. Unless the world changes very dramatically in the next few years, I'm never going to have the option of going to a college. If you tell me to basically shut up about this and concentrate on my work, and we'll talk about it in a few years, OK. I'd accept that without question. But I still can't help wondering, well, just what is the end-game for me, sir?"

Charles shut his eyes. The poignancy of the girl's words, which blazed through despite any differences in rhythm or timbre, cut him to the bone. It would have been so easy for this girl to have fallen into dark paths--been taken up by Magneto, or gone her own way into evil. The fact that she didn't go that way was a great tribute to her. Of course she'd be wondering where things would bring her to, in the end. He opened his eyes, and knew that only honesty was worthy of this girl.

"Maria--I am determined to create a world in which human and mutant can live in peace together. In which a person's character is what matters, not their genetic make-up or their appearance. But I am not going to pretend that that world is the one we live in now. You say you can never have the option of going to college. Perhaps so. But perhaps not, as well. Consider Ben Grimm, of the Fantastic Four. His appearance has been grotesquely altered by cosmic rays, and yet he heroically fights for the right. Not without doubts and hesitations, to be sure. But he does so, and I know for a fact, Maria, that his situation is a nightmare to him. But he proceeds nevertheless, because he has courage." He hesitated slightly. "Maria--I already know this about you. You have courage as well. Courage to match Ben Grimm, and more. I cannot say what the end-game shall be. I certainly shall _not_ say to you, 'shut up'. If you need to let things out, my door is always open to you. And Jean, certainly, feels the same way. And the others, for that matter.

"Maria--if you have the courage, and if we can make some progress here, which I believe we can, then the day will come when you can walk in the sun, as you put it to me in our first interview. I believe that absolutely. And I want you to believe it, as well."

Maria Gianelli was silent for some time. She finally just shook her head quickly, put her hands to her eyes, and said: "Thank you, sir. I do believe it." And that was all that passed between them at that moment, and for Charles Xavier, it was more than enough. But it made him more determined than ever, and it helped him to a decision he had been pondering.


	7. The Doctor Pays a House Call

Chapter Seven

* * *

Jean Grey was lying face down on her bed, a book in her hands, trying to concentrate on reading. She read a sentence, and realized that she had read it before. Eight times.

She rolled on her back, and tossed the book aside. She was still wearing the white dress, and it felt good to be unconfined to the uniform. She wore that so often that to feel something like this on her skin--something feminine and breezy--seemed like a vacation. _Scott was staying._ She breathed yet another sigh of relief. This had been concerning her for some time. He was just enough of a jerk to think that he had to be self-sacrificing and noble, and go out looking for a "cure" to his mutation. Jean had learned enough biology to know that this was hopeless--like looking for a "cure" for left-handedness. And people had tried to do that for centuries, always in vain. Well, the Middle Ages were over--weren't they? Remembering some of the human reactions to mutants, she wondered.

Enough of that. Scott was staying, and even better, he was team leader. An obvious choice--but recognizing the obvious was the first duty of a leader, and Professor Xavier had passed that with flying colors. But the fact was that he _was_ staying! She could have burst with joy. What would she have done, she wondered, if he _had_ gone off on his noble quest to "cure" himself? She shivered, despite the warmth of the day. Thank goodness she'd never have to answer that.

_Please congregate at the entrance to the South Wing immediately. That is all._

Jean jumped off the bed, and gathered her wits. That had sounded so determined! And the South Wing? That had always been out-of-bounds to them. It wasn't very large compared to the rest of the house, but that hadn't reduced its mystery. Of course, they speculated among themselves. The guesses ranged from an inconvenient Mrs Xavier, to the hiding places of Judge Crater and Amelia Earhart, to some sort of super-weapon. Were they really going to find out?

She practically ran down the stairs, and she could see the others coming along as well. She was first to arrive, except for Maria, who stood by the Professor's wheelchair at the entrance to the wing. Scott arrived on Jean's heels, followed by Hank, Warren, and Bobby. They all seemed rather excited, and waited for the Professor to speak.

"Thank you for your promptness, my X-Men," he said, using his voice and not telepathy. "I have made a decision I have been thinking about for some time. I know you have all been wondering about the contents of the South Wing." He produced a key, and opened the door. "I have kept the contents of this part of the house secret from you all, for what I thought were good and proper reasons. But now, I feel that there have been too many secrets in this house. And this one has no reason for existence any longer. Enter, please, all of you."

Jean looked around as she entered, and caught her breath. She could sense similar reactions from her fellow X-Men. They were in a large room, with machinery surrounding them as they walked inside. The largest of the machines was directly across from them, and appeared to be a large computer console. Above that was a giant electric grid, which reminded Jean of a huge television screen. In the middle of the room was a chair, with a helmet on a console next to it, and what appeared to be a control panel on the other side of the chair.

Excited questions broke out from the students, and Charles put up his hand. "Please," he said. "This is actually quite simple to explain... This," he said, indicating the giant computer screen, and the control chair in the middle, "is Cerebro. It is quite likely the world's most sophisticated computer system. I have been working on it in various of its incarnations now for over ten years."

Hank, looking like a little boy in a candy store, asked in a hushed breath: "What is its purpose, Professor?"

Charles Xavier smiled slightly. "It's purpose, Henry--all of you--is simplicity itself. It is designed to find and track down the locations of mutants around the world."

Jean put her hand to her mouth. This piece of machinery could do that? "How does it work, sir?" she asked.

Charles looked serious. "It's full functioning would take hours to even begin to explain, Jean," he replied. "But, essentially, it can utilize brain patterns to locate and track the presence of mutant activity. It's been based very roughly on my own telepathy. I don't myself need a machine to pick up basic mutant brain patterns, but Cerebro helps me in fine-tuning the patterns, and greatly aids the process of location. And, if one didn't have my mental powers, Cerebro could be used to start the whole process from scratch, you might say."

"Was this used to find me, Professor?" Maria asked, fascinated.

"It was, Maria," Charles said. "Your pattern stood out from what might be called the background noise. I had been sensing you in the background for some time, to be very inexact. But I wasn't sure--there is much static and junk in the information transmission, and Magneto will sometimes try to decoy me. I honestly don't know the manner in which he does this, but it is not beyond his capabilities--in order to get me to waste my time, and to shield any actual mutant discovery from me, until after he's had the opportunity to find them first. As he did, with you, Maria." Charles frowned. "It's difficult to describe all this in words--and Maria, in any event, has strange readings on Cerebro. But I feel remiss--strange or no, they are definite mutant readings, and it should have not taken me so long to isolate them."

"It's really just as well, sir," she said softly. "I wasn't ready until now."

"Be that as it may, Magneto is very good at using Cerebro against me. He should be--he helped me build the first version, many years ago."

There was an excited outcry at this information, as its implications ran through the X-Men. Magneto--and the Professor? Working together?

"Yes," he said, a sigh in his voice. "He was not always the evil figure you see now. Yes, my X-Men, he and I did collaborate. The full story of those days can wait for another occasion--but that, too, is a secret I feel I've been keeping too long. And as far as Cerebro is concerned--well, before we encountered Maria, I had been planning, as I told you all, to take a sabbatical. I was going to take Scott alone into my confidence regarding Cerebro, as befitted his new status as team leader. But I have changed my mind. You are all becoming adults, and I am trusting my instincts that you can be told more of what is happening. I have come to feel that the knowledge of Cerebro, and the ability to use it in an emergency, is basic to the functioning of the X-Men."

Jean felt gooseflesh pop up on her skin. In its way, this was part of their graduation. He was coming to accept them as, if not yet equals, at least as adults. She felt a strong determination on her part to be worthy of the trust he was putting in them.

Warren turned to Scott. "By the way--congratulations on your appointment." He put out a hand, and Scott took it, even risking a small smile. That broke the ice for the others, and they all crowded around Scott, giving him congratulations and support. Jean actually risked a hug and a brief kiss on the cheek, which Scott took in stride, but she sensed his pleasure in the gesture. Did that mean anything--?

But before she could consider this topic further, the Professor was speaking again. "All of you will be getting lessons in the workings of Cerebro," he said. "I am beginning to feel remiss, that it has not been part of your education all along. And Maria, it shall be a basic part of yours from the start."

For the next couple of hours, Charles Xavier gave the X-Men a basic primer in the use and functioning of Cerebro. It was merely a beginning, he cautioned--intensive drilling in it was to begin the very next day. But this was enough for Jean and the others. And it gave Jean the odd feeling that the changes were only beginning--that much of what she assumed about their lives as X-Men was going to be overturned. That a new day had dawned, a good day filled with promise. She felt exhilarated, and--looking at Scott--happy. They were going to be staying together! Nothing too bad could happen now.

* * *

It was a bright summer day, but in the room where a certain figure stood it always seemed dark. Why this should be, the figure wasn't sure, but it certainly was the case. The sun was streaming into the room, and still the figure felt darkness everywhere around it. Perhaps it was symbolic of the way the world appeared to the figure. _The forces in play are so strong, and I am so limited. How can I win through to any sort of decent resolution? And yet I must._

The figure seemed to be waiting for something, and looked anxiously out the window. The room it was waiting in was large, a good thirty by forty feet, and it had modernistic consoles and computers lining the walls--indeed, it looked much like the famous laboratories of Reed Richards in the Baxter Building. The figure had everything it needed here for its purposes, and spent most of its time in this room. But nevertheless, it was an oppressive place. All this information at its fingertips--too much, really. The figure preferred to spend time in the parts of its domicile devoted to books, and art, and flowers, and things that could not be calibrated and computed. The figure sighed. Well, fate had deemed it otherwise. It was a creature of duty, and that duty forced it to remain in this room.

Finally, the event the figure had been waiting for occurred. A small dot appeared in the sky. The figure watched the dot grow bigger and bigger, until it took the form of a small flying craft. The craft circled outside the figure's domicile and made a soft landing. The figure sighed, as it watched the craft's occupant emerge and stride confidently up to the front door. _Those forces in play--here is one of them. I must handle him just right. I cannot afford to make him my enemy. And yet, he cannot go on in his present course. Not, in any event, regarding_ _her_ _._

The doorbell rang. The figure pushed a small button, and a door swished open. The figure heard a formidable tread of metal boots walking through the front hall, and the door into this room opened. In strode perhaps the most remarkable man on the face of the planet. Tall, clothed head to foot in a suit of armor, a mask of iron covering his face, a green tunic with a flowing cape covering the armor and a cowl framing the mask. Victor von Doom was unlike any other man, and had no intention of ever letting you forget it. The figure raised a hand in greeting.

"Your Majesty," the figure said. "I greatly appreciate your taking the time to come here."

Doom seemed impatient. "I have much other business to attend to," he said, with a trace of a German accent. The figure knew that that accent was something of a weapon in Doom's arsenal. He could sound like Erich von Stroheim in _Sunset Boulevard,_ if it served his purpose, or like an Oxbridge graduate, if that did. This trace of an accent--the figure wondered if that had any significance. Perhaps it was his "standard" accent, to be used until he knew more about an opponent or a situation. The figure smiled to itself. What, it wondered, would Doom's voice sound like by the time this interview was over?

"I am aware of the constraints on your time, your Majesty," the figure said. It had decided on the best way to deal with this situation--audacity. No beating around the bush. Put Doom on the defensive. "After all, ever since your near death in the outer solar system, and your rescue by the one who calls himself Rama-Tut, you have had much to do to make up for lost time."

Doom was silent for a very long time, as he measured the figure standing in front of him. He did not react with shock or indignation to the figure's knowledge of his doings, and the figure had counted on that. Doom was always in control of himself, and his reaction would be to wonder how the other figure would know this. And, perhaps, how much more it knew, as well. And of course Doom was intelligent enough to know that it--the figure--was counting on Doom reacting without shock. Therefore, his next words would be--

"Richards. And his so-called 'Fantastic Four'. I am about to settle accounts with them, if for no other reason than to punish them for the sheer stupidity of thinking that our last encounter would prove fatal to me. To _me!_ Richards has a first-rate intellect, I must admit. Indeed, I declare it openly, for without such he would scarcely be any kind of opponent to me. But it has its limits, needless to say, and I shall show them to him this time--before the end."

"Before, that is," the figure said, "you send him to limbo with his own encephalo-gun."

Doom's silence was even longer this time. Finally, he spoke very quietly and very clearly--with, the figure noted with a trace of amusement, no accent whatever. "You are planning on my overreacting to you," Doom finally said. "You are trying to put, and keep, me on the defensive in this interview. I can see how knowledge of my near death in the reaches of space, and my rescue, might find itself to you--to anyone who might be able to go to the effort of finding out, if they had sufficient resources. Fine. But this..." Doom paused, and looked around the room with its machines. "Hmmm," he said, almost to himself. "This isn't too primitive. It would be, I should say, worthy of Richards. Which means, of course, that it contains no surprises for _me._ " He turned to the figure again. "You must not trifle with me. The encephalo-gun--and my plans for it. This is _not_ something that anyone could find out about, with even limitless resources. No. This means that you are not 'anyone'. This means that you are a figure of some formidability. Perhaps even a danger to me, a hindrance to my plans."

The figure nodded. "Very good, your Majesty. Go on, by all means."

Doom frowned. "And that means...that means that your invitation to me today has a specific purpose. You are not afraid of me, for one thing. This is evident. That is a very great mistake."

The figure nodded. "And yet, your Majesty, I do not believe that I _am_ making a mistake. I do not believe I am in any personal danger here."

Doom stood very still, and pondered his next words. "And that can only mean..." He looked hard at the figure. "You know more yet."

"I do, your Majesty," the figure said. "Shall we quit beating around the bush?"

Doom nodded brusquely. "Do. By all means."

"Very well," the figure said. "I know that, in addition to your current plans for the Fantastic Four--which I might as well say, are certain to fail--you are currently involved in an intricate game with your computer psycho-chess master, the Prime Mover. This game involves the X-Men."

Doom's silence contained infinite menace. He stared hard at the figure, as if unable to believe what he was hearing. "You are mad," he finally said. "Stark, raving mad. You have no idea what forces you play with."

"I should say it is the precise opposite, your Majesty," the figure said carefully. "It is _you_ who do not recognize what you do. But to return to the point. You recognize that Magneto is currently at something of a loss. The addition to the X-Men of the girl Maria Gianelli pushes the balance of power in the mutant world very much in Xavier's favor. Even as she is--with no real idea of what she can do--she is physically the most powerful mutant on the planet, with the possible exception of Magneto himself. He knows this, and needs a counter." The figure paused. "That's where you came in."

Doom as on the verge of an explosion, the figure knew. But all he said was: "Indeed. That is where I came in. And what did I do about it?"

"You did the following, your Majesty: you created a robot of the one figure that Magnus could most use at this juncture. In fact, _this_ robot." The figure pushed a button, and a closet in the room opened, and a figure emerged into the sunlight, facing the figure and Doom. It was not operational now in any real sense, merely walked in--yes--a "robotic" fashion. It was the figure of a girl of sixteen, quite pretty, medium height, athletic looking. It was wearing a green skin-tight costume with stripes around the middle that bared some of the waist. On the "girl's" head was a green helmet that covered most of the face. Streaming out from underneath the helmet was a mane of green hair.

Doom actually hissed, he was so shocked. " _How--_ " He paused, and gained control of himself. "How--did--you--get--hold--of--this?" he asked, in an almost normal voice.

The figure smiled to itself. Here was a trump card and no mistake, and Doom had just acknowledged its effect on him--something that he had perhaps never done before to any adversary. "Your Majesty, does it matter? Here is the robotic version of Lorna Dane--the very robot you had been preparing to use to infiltrate Magnus' Brotherhood. The very fact that I have it here, now--when you were working on it not twelve hours ago in your castle in upstate New York--tells you something."

"It does," Doom said darkly. "It tells me that you are going to die."

The figure shook its head. "Unworthy of you, your Majesty. Very unworthy. You know better than that."

Doom did not move a muscle. "I did not say that you would die today. Or tomorrow. But die you shall, nonetheless. When you least expect it, at a time of my choosing. You have gone too far. No one does this to Doom with impunity."

"Do I look frightened, your Majesty?" the figure said, looking Doom straight in the face. Doom returned the stare, and slowly relaxed his posture.

"No," Doom replied. "You are _not_ frightened. Of me, of anything I can do to you--and you know what I am capable of. You do not fear death at my hand. And that means--" Doom thought long and hard, and suddenly gave a small shiver. The figure smiled to itself again--that was a concession it would have bet much, that Victor von Doom had never shown an opponent before.

Doom stared at the figure. "My God," it said slowly, after a few seconds. "This is not possible." Doom suddenly stood stock still. "I do not see how this is possible--"

"Don't you?" the figure asked. "After what you've just experienced?"

Doom stood still for another few seconds. "Of course," it said after awhile. "Of course. And you--?"

"Am who, what, I am," the figure said. "And perhaps you realize now why I take such an interest in your plans."

"Yes," Doom said. he looked at the robot. "This is in many ways my greatest creation. It--no, _she-_ -would have fooled Magnus absolutely. He needs more power, as you so sagely noted. And his ambivalence towards this girl--given that he does not know in fact where the real Lorna Dane is now, and what she is doing--" Doom sighed. "He would believe in this girl completely. I would have my pawn in the game. And in time, there would be others. And I would win in the end."

"Proving exactly what, your Majesty?" the figure said. "Suppose you did 'win'? What would it gain you? Mutant affairs are out of your bailiwick."

"Nothing is out of my bailiwick," Doom said, his voice totally under his control now. "Mutants exist, and are growing in power. Any power foci on this planet is something I need to take into consideration. To weaken and divide this power--to confound Magnus--is to my advantage." He paused, and smiled slightly. "And my games with the Prime Mover--do not underestimate the simple fact of the pleasure I take in them. I play to win in everything. And dealing with the destiny of the earth--as a game--when everyone else is trying so hard in deadly earnest--"

"It puts you one up on the world," the figure said, and Doom shrugged.

"It does. Of course it does."

The figure nodded, and pressed a button. The Lorna Dane robot went back into the closet, still "asleep". "You can, of course, appreciate my concern in this matter now, can you not, your Majesty?"

Doom looked hard at the figure. "Yes, I can. And you think you can thwart me. I tell you, nothing can thwart me."

"And yet, your Majesty, I _have_ thwarted you."

Doom waved a hand dismissively. "I do not mean this game! I mean in the greater game--of absolute power. I shall have it. I shall possess it-- _her_ \--in the end."

"That is your fate, I think," the figure said. "To grasp at absolute power--and always to fall short. You feel there is nothing beyond you. That there is no such thing as nemesis, that the expression pride goeth before a fall is merely a snare for weaklings. Your Majesty--think hard. On me, and what I represent. Please do that. For I tell you, those are _not_ empty words. You know who I am now--will you not at least concede that I might know what I'm talking about?"

Doom was silent for a time. "No," he finally said. "Will can overcome all else. Even if I was fully convinced of what you know--even so, I should not pause or backtrack." He made a dismissive gesture. "Very well--I shall find other games with the Prime Mover. But Jean Grey will be mine in the end--and the forces she represents. I tell you--yes, even _you-_ -this."

"And I tell you, Victor von Doom, that you will not. Not only will any such attempts on your part fail. Any such attempts on your part will not be tolerated."

Doom was silent for a very long time. "Indeed," he finally said slowly.

"Yes, your Majesty. And you may decide for yourself what my promise means to you."

Doom nodded to the figure, and turned on his heels. The figure could see the craft moving away from its domicile, in a determined easterly direction. The figure sighed. Would this deter this man? The figure couldn't say. It hoped so--for Jean's sake, for its own sake. Even for von Doom's sake, for that matter. But only time would tell, and the figure burst out laughing realizing that.


	8. Another Doctor Pays a House Call

Chapter Eight

* * *

Maria picked up the telephone. It had been over four years since she had had a telephone receiver in her hand, and it felt strange to her rough skin. _A telephone! My God, I'm becoming positively civilized._ So much had happened in the past week... A bed. Three squares a day. A family. She was afraid that if she shut her eyes, she might open them to find that she was back in the wild, ready to belknap some dinner. She shuddered slightly. It was so hard to believe this was all real! But the X-Men were as real as it got. Her first class had been that morning--a long session with the Professor, and Cerebro. After the formal session, she had shanghied Hank into some extra time with the machine, with the Professor's permission. She wanted to learn everything at once, and didn't want to waste a second. Four years of wasted time was enough.

She dialed the number, and a bored female voice came on the line. " _Daily Bugle,"_ the voice said.

"Frank Gianelli, City Room, please," Maria said, and she heard a click, as the call went through...please, please let him be there... "Gianelli," a sharp voice answered.

Maria shut her eyes. _Thank God._ She cleared her throat and said: "Hi there. Guess who."

Dead silence. "Maria? Is that you? For God's sake--where are you?"

She laughed. "Would you believe, Salem Center, New York?"

A pause. " _Westchester?_ You're only forty miles from the city? Kid--what's going on? I can't believe you're actually on the phone!"

Her heart soaring, Maria said: "Frank--have you ever heard of Professor Xavier's School for Gifted Youngsters?"

"Xavier--? Hey! The guy in the wheelchair I heard at Bowdoin? The expert on--" Dead silence again.

"On mutants, Frank," Maria said. "The expert on mutants."

"Well, I'll be damned," Frank said slowly. "Huh. The X-Men?"

"Could be," Maria said playfully.

"Oh, kid," Frank said. "Then I guess you didn't mind getting found by them after all."

"Guess not," she said off-handedly. "Frank--I have a home here. Friends. I thought all they'd want--all anyone would want--would be to put me in a specimen jar. Why should I think anything else? Like Magneto would have. But it's not like that at all! I've found a friend, a girl whom I can tell _anything_ to! And the Professor! He's _so_ nice! And well--well, I just feel so _right_ here! You won't believe it all when I tell you!"

There was a pause, and when he spoke again, Maria could hear tears in his voice. "Kid, I don't know what to say. If anybody deserves it, you do. Maybe I can feel a little more human again, knowing that you aren't out there--you know--"

"Yeah," she said, tears in her own eyes and voice now. "Oh, Frank--it's not going to be easy. The Professor hasn't waved a magic wand. There are going to be all sorts of problems. But I have hope now! I have a place for me to be! Can you believe it!"

Frank was silent again for a long time. "Maria--would all this be happening, if I hadn't told you about Mom?"

Maria considered. "I don't know, Frank. That's a good question. Maybe not. Maybe I needed to learn some things." She paused. "Maybe I needed to grow up. I think I've done a lot of that, in just the past week."

"Maria--I feel happy. Blessed. This is more than I ever imagined."

"Thanks," she said, her voice a controlled ecstasy. "But Frank--there's some red tape. I'm only seventeen. Legally, you're my guardian. God knows what that really means--I have no idea what my legal status is. And I can't really appear in public, now, can I? But the Professor would like to see you, if you can come up here to Salem Center. Could you? Maybe even today? He knows you know about me, and would have to know about us, and everything... Could you?"

There was a laugh at the other end of the receiver. "Kid--I'd do anything to make you happy. What time does he want me there?"

* * *

Frank Gianelli looked carefully around him. This was a nice office, he had to admit. The panelling, the bookshelves, the large desk--it all had the look of a busy educator with a civilized streak. And the man across the desk gave an appearance of solidity. He remembered the impression Charles Xavier had had on him, listening to him lecture at Bowdoin. There had been something about that lecture...no one in the audience had fallen asleep. Some kind of subtle electric feeling had run through the listeners, and looking at this man whom he now knew to be a mutant, Frank wondered if Xavier had been ever-so-slightly stimulating them mentally.

He was in a chair directly across from Xavier, and Maria was sitting over to his left. He still had to blink when he looked at her--dressed in a red top and a pair of white pedal-pushers. Looking very much at home--and very happy. He still had trouble believing this was all happening. That Maria had found a home, something he could never have done for her. He had embraced her when he arrived at the Mansion, and they had both shed some tears. He shut his eyes briefly. _Will all this be here, when I open them again?_ The thought made him actually reluctant to open his eyes, but he did--and the same office, Xavier across the desk, Maria looking happy. Well, maybe this wasn't a dream, after all.

"Mr Gianelli," Charles Xavier was saying, "we need to come to some decisions regarding Maria. Obviously, you do not seem reluctant to have her here as my student."

" 'Reluctant'?" Frank said softly. "Hell's bells, Professor--this is the happiest day of my life. I've spent four years agonizing over her. Wondering where she was, how she was surviving, unable to get in touch--not knowing what I'd do or say, if we _were_ in touch. Having her reach a safe haven seems too good to be true."

Maria smiled and reached out, taking her brother's hand. Frank squeezed it as best he could--too hard, and his hand might start to bleed, he thought wryly. Charles looked satisfied with Frank's answer.

"I'm delighted to hear you say that, Mr. Gianelli--"

"I answer to 'Frank' at feeding time, Professor. And I'm usually hungry."

Charles smiled. "Fine. And I should prefer 'Charles', Frank-- Well, things have worked out very well, in my opinion. Maria is here, and I feel she is going to make a splendid addition to the School." He paused . "Of course, I cannot pretend that she does not have special problems, Frank. For the moment, anyway, she cannot be seen in public. She has accepted this. But it is a burden on her--a terribly unfair one, one which no one has the right to place upon her. But she has indicated the willingness to bear it for now, so that the day may come when neither she--nor any mutant--need bear it again. I cannot tell you how deeply my admiration goes out to her, for doing so."

Frank smiled at his sister. "Kid--you are special." He turned to Charles. "I've always known that, Charles. Even before her mutation, she had a lot more on the ball upstairs than I did--and despite what my City Editor thinks, I'm not exactly a mutt myself."

"I don't doubt that, Frank," Charles said. "I read your stories regarding that Syndicate--and I was as shocked as anyone, that it all turned out to be run from your own paper."

Frank waived a hand. "It was quite an experience, Charles. I'm just glad that Spider-Man put the kibosh on Foswell and Company. They were getting too powerful for comfort--like the mob gangs of the Twenties, who almost took power from the elected officials. If the Syndicate had gone on the way it was--well, things could have gotten very dangerous."

Charles nodded. "Indeed. I had even considered the possibility that the X-Men might have to take a hand in the matter. Our FBI contact had discussed the matter with me."

Frank smiled. "Well, now, _that_ would have been interesting. Mutants out policing the city! Forgive me, Charles, but the average Joe in the street would have preferred the gangsters."

Charles sighed. "Agent Duncan came to the same conclusion--and so, in the end, did I." He frowned slightly. "Frank--I do not want to be part of any possible friction between you and your employer. You are, after all, a journalist. And you now have in your possession facts about the X-Men that would be of overwhelming interest to the general public. Am I endangering your job?"

Frank scowled. "To hell with my job. If I lose it someday because of this, I lose it. Charles--I'm Italian. The family comes first." Maria gifted Frank with a squeeze of his hand, which made him wince slightly. "Jameson would have a fit if he knew that one of his reporters covered up evidence of any super-powered figure--mutant or no. Well, to hell with him. He's got a bee up his bonnet over Spider-Man, who is A-OK in my book. Let him have one over the X-Men, too, if he wants to."

Charles smiled. "Fine, then. As long as you understand your own situation. Now--Maria's situation. Was there any sort of investigation in 1960, when she disappeared after her mutation hit her?"

Frank shrugged. "Well, I couldn't very well act as if she had never existed. No one outside the family knew about her mutation. When it happened, we told friends and other family that Maria had contracted a serious illness, and was being sent away for a cure." There was silence between brother and sister.

"What actually happened, Professor," Maria said, "was that my father basically indentured me to a circus, where I was exhibited as a freak. That only lasted a few months, as I told you during my interview, because I was just _too_ icky even for the freak show. And also--I think people were a little scared of me." She was silent for a moment. "I think people were instinctively realizing already that I was a mutant--even though that concept was only being talked of in whispers then. But I wasn't being regarded as just another freak. That added to everyone's unease with me. And I feel that the circus owner--a real character, I might add; he was a crook, had this deal where he'd hypnotize people and grab their valuables--anyway, he finally had enough, and told my Dad to come get me. And then..." She frowned, and Frank shut his eyes in pain.

"Yes," Charles said quietly. "The attempt to sell you to Essex."

"Yes," she said. "That was enough for me. I went back home--and Mom tried to kill me."

No one spoke for some time. Finally Charles said: "Maria--your mother was a mutant. There are those of us who hate it, who just want to hide away from the responsibility that entails, who are in a state of denial. Your mother was one such. It just ate her up, consumed her with fear and hatred--of you, to be sure, but of herself most of all. I hope the time may come when you can forgive her."

Maria looked at the floor and nodded dully. Frank cleared his throat, suddenly finding it difficult to speak. "Well, Charles--in any event, when Maria took off, I just went to the police and told them that she had been very ill, had recovered somewhat, and ran away from home after Mom had a breakdown and tried to kill her. And God knows, that was close enough to the truth. So Maria went on the 'runaways' list, and sank without a trace--as so many kids do."

Charles considered his next statement. "Very well, then. What do we do now? Do we tell the authorities that Maria has returned, and is now a student at my school? If we do that, the police are going to want to interview the girl as to what she has been doing the past four years. Do we want her speaking to them? To anybody? But if we keep silent and do not tell anyone, then Maria must remain legally a cipher. She cannot technically be enrolled as a student here, because that would, again, attract the attention of the police and the child authorities. I do not believe any of us wants that."

Frank shrugged his agreement, and Maria shook her head vigorously.

"Very well. But if Maria remains a 'non-person', it also means, for instance, that she can never have a life of her own outside this school. It precludes college, a driver's license, marriage, employment. These things may seem absurd on their face, but we can't be certain of the future. The day may come when she might want or need things that only a legal identity can confer."

There was silence for a time. Frank turned to Maria. "Kid?" he asked. "What do you think?"

Maria looked pensive. "Professor--nothing you say is wrong. I _can't_ have a 'normal' life for now, and maybe never." She looked Charles Xavier right in the face. "But we've discussed this. We fight for the day when people like me _can_ have a chance. I've committed myself, sir. I'm here for the duration. If that means being a 'non-person', then so be it."

Frank and Charles were silent for a few moments. "Good for you, kid," Frank was finally able to say. Charles merely nodded. Frank Gianelli left soon afterwards, more at peace that he could ever remember being.

* * *

Maria looked around her. The Danger Room didn't appear to be either large or small right now. Its blank walls seemed to kill all perspective. It might have been ten feet long, or a hundred. She looked above her. There--in the control room, the only break in the general formlessness. They were all there, in costume, watching her. The Professor sat by the controls. His words were soothing.

"This is not a test, Maria. Not even in the most informal sense. We merely wish you to get a general idea of what the Danger Room is, and what you shall be experiencing here. Please, try not to feel any pressure. No one expects you to get this right on the first try. None of the others did."

"You said it," she heard Warren say. "If I told you the amazing adventures of _my_ first Danger Room try--" Maria smiled to herself. Warren was trying to make her feel at ease, and to some extent he had succeeded. The others chuckled.

"And I've told you about _my_ first time," Jean called out. "I still have trouble sitting down sometimes." There was general merriment at this reminder of an infamous fiasco, and Maria despite herself wanted to put her hand back by her bottom. She looked around her, at the strangely undifferentiated landscape of the room. She knew she had to be prepared for anything--

Suddenly, the floor in front of her opened up. She had been striding softly along the front end of the room, and she had nearly stepped into the hole. She paused, looking down. She sensed something behind her-- The floor there was opening up, too. She suddenly found herself on a small island of floor, with about, she guessed, fifteen feet of empty space around the "island". She heard the Professor's voice then.

"In exactly five seconds after I finish speaking, Maria, the space of floor you are standing on will disappear, too. You will then face a thirty-foot fall, if you have not removed yourself. This will not injure you, but it won't be pleasant, and I can promise you it will be very embarrassing."

Maria nodded, and casually stretched her legs across the gap to the safety of the floor fifteen feet away. As promised, as soon as she had moved off the small piece of floor she had been occupying, it vanished. She looked around. In a moment, the floor that had disappeared slid back into place. Where would the next obstacle come from?

Even as she was wondering this, the floor around her seemed to rise and fold itself around her. She found herself hemmed in, like being trapped in a small closet. And slowly, inexorably, the walls of the "closet" were shrinking in upon her.

She breathed deeply. Thank goodness, claustrophobia was not an issue with her. She stretched her hands up and down, and felt no "door", no opening of any kind and no weakness in the walls. Well--if this trap was as simple as the first, there was an obvious way out--

Maria simply flexed her arms, used her considerable strength, and pushed hard at the walls of the "closet". They snapped like they were made of balsa wood, and she crunched up enough of them so that she had room to simply stride easily out of the "closet". She walked a few feet away, watching as she did so the remains of the "closet" being sucked down into what she supposed was a vacuum cleaner apparatus. The parts of the floor that had been used for the "closet" were instantly replaced by new sections.

She walked around the room slowly, wondering if the traps were all going to be this absurdly simple. Even as she did so, a small section of wall opened, and a ball popped out, the wall section immediately closing. The ball smacked against the opposing wall, and headed for another section of the room. There it bounced again, and headed off once more for the far corner. It bounced again--

"Maria," she heard the Professor say. "This ball will continue to bounce; it will not lose energy. It is coated with a solution that, if it hits you, will render you instantly unconscious. Yes, it will even affect _you_ in this manner." Maria moved slightly away from the ball as its trajectory came close to where she was standing. "Now--simply for the sake of this demonstration--you are to remain in your current state, your 'natural' state. This ball's kinetic energy is not being reduced by its bounces. It shall continue to bounce. And as it does, it slowly but surely zeroes in on the only source of heat energy in the room--that is, you. The more you move and try to dodge it, the sooner it shall find you, and hit you--thereby knocking you out. All you have to do is figure out a way not to have this happen."

Maria looked carefully at the ball. It came close to her again, and again she dodged as it went past her to bounce against the far side of the room. But this time, it came closer to her than ever on its next trajectory, and she dodged even quicker.

She ran to a far end of the room, but the ball, sensing this, followed--not on its first bounce, to be sure, but slowly, over two, three, four trajectories it slowly circled in on where she was, Maria moving slowly away from the ball all the while.

Hold on. Could it be this easy? Well, the other traps were--and she was damned if she could think of anything else. Maria went to the exact center of the room, and simply lay down, looking straight at the ceiling, and not moving a muscle. The ball appeared confused. It bounced a couple of times in the corner of the room where she had just been, then sent its trajectory across to the other side. Maria, meanwhile, didn't move at all, scarcely breathed. The ball's trajectories got less and less, and its speed slowed to a trickle. Finally, the ball hit the wall softly near the bottom of the room, and finally stopped uneasily not three feet from where Maria was lying.

"Excellent, Maria," the Professor said. "These tests have been simple, and the solutions perhaps obvious--but recognizing the obvious is the first step. Now, we'll try something just slightly harder." She heard the others chuckling, and she winced to herself as she rose to her feet. The ball disappeared into a small hole in the floor, which immediately covered itself again. Maria looked around warily, wondering from which direction the next obstacle was going to come, and as she did so, she realized suddenly that the room was smaller than it had been. She blinked. Was she imagining it? No--it definitely _was_ slightly smaller. And that meant--

"Oh, no," she said. "You can't be serious, Professor. The old walls-closing-in trick? This was old hat in silent movie days."

There was a sound of laughter from the control room. "Well, sometimes the old tricks are the best ones, Maria," the Professor said. "But beware! This is no simple obstacle, like the 'closet' we had you in a few minutes ago. Yes, the room _is_ contracting. In a very few minutes, it shall be closing in on you completely. Now--I tell you this, Maria. It is no danger to you. If need be, your physical strength is more than enough to smash the walls as they press in upon you. But I must also say--there is another way to escape this trap. One calibrated to your exact powers. Your job is to find out what that is, and not to Shift into another form."

Maria walked over to one of the advancing walls. She moved her hands across the wall, her rough fingers splayed out broadly upon the surface. It seemed completely smooth to her fingers. She went to the other walls, and they all appeared the same to her. She stretched her head up to the ceiling--no. Nothing there. The walls were noticeably closer now. She had perhaps three minutes before they closed in upon her, and she was forced to crush them with her bare hands. And, while the Professor said this was not a test in the formal sense, she regarded it as such--her first. She did not want to fail.

Think, girl. "Calibrated to your exact powers." Well--what were her powers, in this, her "normal" form? She was strong. She could stretch her limbs. She could even change her shape--within limits. She could become a ball, a cube, a small figure of silicon. But she could not just let the walls flatten her completely. She couldn't get _that_ flat. ( _Two minutes. Think, girl!_ ) This was still her first time. Therefore, the solution to this must still be relatively simple. Must be. Not as simple as the others--she couldn't just crush the walls, like she did the "walls" of the "closet". But the answer must be relatively easy.

She listened to the walls. Could she hear any machinery, any sound of gears or pulleys? She went around the room, listening hard, sensing with her fingers. If she couldn't smash the walls like Samson pulling the temple down, maybe she could find where some machinery was, and make a surgical strike at that one point. It seemed to be her only chance, and that seemed to be sufficiently "harder" than the first three obstacles, while still being relatively simple. Well, it was that or nothing...

The floor. Yes, there was definitely a "whirr" underneath there, if she listened hard enough. She splayed her fingers again, and peeled away some of the floor. Yes--there was a conveyor belt apparatus there. Maria grabbed a handful of the apparatus, and pulled. There was a hissing and clanking of machinery, and the floor rumbled beneath her. But the walls stopped moving in on her, and she heard a round of applause coming from the control room.

"That's it, Professor?" she said brightly. "I thought you had something _really_ tough in mind for me."

"Famous last words," Jean said, a broad smile on her face.

"We walk before we run, Maria," the Professor said. "I assure you, it will get more challenging. But this has been a good first attempt. You seem to have a natural aptitude for the Danger Room. This is a good sign. We shall have another introductory session or two, and then you'll begin--very cautiously--to train with your fellow X-Men. Meanwhile: well done."

Maria joined the others, and they all had a handshake and some good words for her, with a hug from Jean. Maria took a deep breath. Another step forward. Maybe she'd become one of them yet.

* * *

Maria was lying on her bed, doing homework. She still didn't quite take this inconceivable luxury--a bed!--for granted yet, and doubted she ever would. She rolled on it briefly, feeling the softness underneath her heavy, irregular frame. She'd have to stop this, or she'd fall asleep again. It seemed that all she needed to do was lie down and slumber would come, and she didn't want to get a reputation for idleness.

She had had a physics class that morning, which Hank had taught. Her own reading had included some popular physics tomes here and there, but the real thing was different. There were connections, complications, sinews of thought and logic that her reading hadn't prepared her for, and she was determined to understand all of it. Hank had smiled at the end, and cautioned her not to run before she could walk. She had agreed, but felt frustrated. Now that her Torches and Pitchforks days _were_ over, she wanted to catch up all at once. Well, she couldn't do that, but she could sure try. _Hank_ , she thought to herself suddenly. He was so nice to her that morning. Patient, answered all her stupid questions. God knows what sort of impression she made on him... She blinked, and sat up on the edge of the bed. _Stop that, girl. That might be something Jean thinks about Scott. But you know better._

There was a mental call from the Professor. _Will everyone assemble in Classroom Six, please? You have five minutes._ Maria rose, stretched her frame slightly, and went out into the hall, heading for the eastern stairway. She met Warren coming from the boy's wing, and they descended together.

"Do you know what this is about?" she asked him, and he just smiled.

"You'll find out. It's a treat, really. One you're virginal about."

She whistled. "Virginal, Mr. Worthington? Who is it? Hugh Hefner?"

Warren laughed. "I wish! No, babe, I'm afraid not. But in some respects, it's better."

They reached the classroom, and Maria took a seat over by the far end of the room, next to Jean. The Professor was in the front, by the door. There was a general air of expectation among the others that Maria wondered about. Suddenly, a loud voice was heard from the hall outside.

"What is this, Charles? You didn't invite me to the graduation? It's an anti-Semitic conspiracy, that's what it is!" Into the room strode a man of about forty-five, medium height, a bit heavyset . He wore a jacket and bow-tie, had on glasses, and spoke volubly in a marked Brooklyn accent. He beamed at the Professor, at the other students, then turned his gaze on Maria. She gasped.

"Maria," the Professor said, "please stand up. This is Dr Isaac Asimov, Assistant Professor of Biochemistry at--"

"Boston University," Maria finished for him. "I know who he is, sir." She walked up to Asimov. "I'm a _huge_ fan of yours, sir! Really! I'm honored to meet you."

The others laughed, and Asimov put Maria's hand to his lips. "The honor is mine, my dear. All mine!" He turned to the Professor. "A fan, Charles! Obviously, a young lady of taste and discernment."

"So I'm discovering," the Professor said, a smile on his face. Maria retreated to her seat, not worrying for once if she were being cool or not. Asimov stood before the students.

"I understand, Maria, that you've had little formal education, these past few years," he said. She nodded from her seat.

"Yes, sir. A lot of irregular schooling, but none of it pulled together, if you know what I mean. Well, that's one reason why I'm here." She turned to the Professor. "Sir? If you don't mind my asking? How long have you known Dr Asimov?"

"About ten years, Maria," The Professor replied. "Since I was in graduate school. I was already interested in mutation then--obviously!--and read some science fiction, to see in general what they had to say about it. It is, of course, one of the classic themes of the field. In doing so, I read the Foundation Trilogy--"

"The Mule!" Maria cried. "The great mutant conqueror of the Galaxy."

Asimov's beaming smile got even greater, if possible, and the Professor nodded. "Quite so, Maria. As a result, I wrote to Isaac, in guarded terms, about mutation in the real world. He was shrewd enough to read between the lines, and he quickly became one of my human confederates. Part of my Underground, if you will. And most valuable he's been, if I do say so."

"A famous science-fiction writer," Maria said, entranced. " _And_ a famous science writer! One who knows practically everything!"

The others laughed, and Asimov puffed his chest out. "You shouldn't encourage him like that, Maria," Jean said.

"He's been a guest lecturer here from the beginning," Charles said. "Specializing in biochemistry, naturally--but as you implied, Maria, there are very few aspects of the whole mutant issue that he doesn't have a good grasp of."

"Yes, sir," Maria said, and opened her notebook. She wasn't going to miss a word of this.

Asimov smiled at the students. "I gather you're all staying here for the nonce," he said cheerfully. "Excellent! That gives me yet more excuses to come visit Jean." He paused. "And Maria. My Number One fan."

If she could blush, Maria would have. "Oh, I'd hardly go that far, sir," she said.

" _I_ would," Asimov said decisively. "I'll quiz you in my works after the lecture. And I have no doubt about the results... Young lady, you're my Number One Fan, if I _say_ you're my Number One Fan. Is that clear?"

"Yes, sir," she said abashedly.

"And it's _Isaac_ to my friends. _You,_ " he said deliberately, "are my friend. Is _that_ understood?"

"Oh, yes!" Maria said, hardly able to believe her ears. She felt herself flying high above the earth all throughout Asimov's lecture, higher even than Warren could ever reach, and she didn't think she touched ground until it was over. It was a good lecture, on the properties of recombinant DNA and what this meant for hidden aspects of the brain, in both humans and mutants. Some of the material was a little over Maria's head--after all, she didn't have the background the others had in all this--but she earnestly wrote down every word she could pick up. For forty-five minutes she was scribbling away, not thinking of anything but the talk, getting everything down she could. When Asimov was finished, her wrist ached a little, but she had filled eight pages of her notebook. She looked at it, and determined never to throw this out, no matter what happened the whole rest of her life.

After the lecture, the students all gathered around Asimov, and he spoke to each of them, a few words here and there. He gave Jean a big hug, and added one for Maria. Finally, Charles suggested they all retreat to the living room, an idea which was greeted warmly.

There, Carla had some food and drink laid out, and Asimov sank into a large armchair. Maria sat on his right, still having trouble believing that she was in the same room with him. Hank sat on the other side of him, and he and Asimov began a talk on extraterrestrial life that the others listened to with various levels of interest.

Hank was discussing the Skrulls. "--Isaac, do you acknowledge that they _are_ here? Or not? I know that some people have debunked the whole business, including the so-called 'Super Skrull' incident in New York last year. That Reed Richards is engaged in a publicity stunt."

Professor Xavier frowned. "I know Reed, Hank. We've all met him, and he's become a useful ally after the recent incident with the Puppet Master and the Thinker. _I_ do not believe him capable of such a hoax."

Asimov looked decidedly ambivalent. "I don't believe it either, Charles. Either someone has hoaxed Dr Richards--which I admit, I find unlikely upon its face--or else the story is true. I've been a confirmed sceptic about all of this sort of thing--but I'm a man of science first and foremost. If this is where the evidence takes me, then so be it." He paused. "It appears that they _are_ here. There have been other reports, too, not just the Skrulls. Some of them--like the so-called 'Toad Men'--I reject, if only because they resemble a drive-in movie feature just a little bit _too_ much. But others--" He shrugged unhappily. "It's hard to reject evidence this good."

Maria smiled impishly at him--or, anyway, as "impishly" as she could manage. "And mutants, Dr Asimov, esteemed expert? How is the evidence on _that_ subject?"

They all laughed, and Asimov gave Maria a mock swat. "Unless Charles is the greatest hypnotist of all time, I like the evidence for that." He grew sober for a second. "But I will confess, Maria, I was perturbed by his first few letters. I had the definite sense of being led down a path towards a conclusion that I very much wanted to reject. I didn't _want_ that particular aspect of reality to escape the pages of SF. I wanted _Odd John_ and _Slan_ to be potential, not reality."

"And the Mule," Maria said softly. "Don't forget him."

Asimov sighed. "Indeed, my lady. Him, too." He paused. "And now, the Skrulls. Another piece of the SF world turning into fact. Well--there goes my 'all-human' galaxy. I wonder what they intend to do to us. Or for us."

Charles said, "what they intend and what they'll do, are two different questions. The young people in this room, Isaac, are more than capable of defending the world if it comes to that."

Asimov brightened. "Indeed! I read of your exploits everywhere." He looked at Maria. "And you're considerably stronger now, with Maria on the team."

" _I_   think so, Isaac," she said brightly. Asimov laughed.

Scott had been listening to this interchange with some interest. "Isaac," he said at last in his quiet way, "what was it in the Professor's letters that convinced you? Was there one particular thing?"

Asimov nodded sagely. "An excellent question, that, Scott," he said. "As I'd expect of you... No. It was simply a cumulative sense of conviction I felt--in the letters, and in my own responses to them. When I met Charles soon afterwards, he told me the truth about himself. And I was ready to believe it."

The Professor smiled. "It was the beginning of a very interesting friendship, I think it's safe to say. We've exchanged information, and Isaac has of course become a part of this school--and a most valued part, too. But we continue to have...differences."

Maria saw the others smile, and she realized that this was an old subject among them. "Oh?" was all she said. "What differences might that be, Professor?"

Charles and Asimov looked at each other, and broke into laughter. "Well, Maria," Asimov said, "it's difficult to describe it exactly. We have, I suppose, different interpretations as to what the mutant phenomenon means."

Maria frowned. "Oh? 'Means'? How do you mean that?"

More laughter. "You see, Charles?" Asimov said. "We can't even express this in simple English without getting tied into knots."

The Professor smiled. "Well, Maria, I think we can at least make some kind of sense about it. Isaac and I have a different interpretation as to why mutants have arrived now, in the manner they have--and in the numbers they have."

"Quite so," Asimov said dreamily, enjoying a glass of punch. "I believe that there is no 'deep' meaning behind the recent mutations. There is a perfectly simple Darwinian explanation, which can be explained in classic textbook terms. I admit, I do not know what that explanation might be as of yet." He paused. "The mutations are--well, exceptionally colorful. I'll concede that. And they don't seem to fit into simple explanations of 'survival advantage'. And they seem to be occurring with a startling speed--by evolutionary standards, that is. And they're just--well, colorful."

"More like magic than science," Maria said. "I've wondered about this, too, Isaac, in my layman's way. You talk of survival advantage. Well, what on earth is the survival advantage in wings? Or turning to ice? Or telepathy? In a world where humans already had filled every conceivable evolutionary niche, and had long ago vanquished any possible competitors among the other species? And why did it happen, essentially, in a single generation?"

Asimov nodded. "Indeed, Maria. That's precisely the question! Perhaps one might say that atomic radiation had something to do with it. That, I suspect, is what the public in general thinks. Well, maybe so. But consider! There are mutants who were born before atomic tests came along--Charles here being one of them. There is the one called Magneto, as well. And there are some, I know--Charles has informed me of this fact--who were born _long_ before any atomic tests came along. How to account for them?"

Maria looked thoughtful. "Perhaps the potential for mutation has been there for a long time. And occasionally, becomes reality. But there is something in the atmosphere--either literally or figuratively--that makes mutation become more manifest in today's world."

Professor Xavier looked at Maria proudly. "That's an excellent point, Maria. And I think to some extent that is true. There is evidence that a very few mutants go back a very long time--to perhaps the dawn of civilization. But the sheer numbers that are popping up now--why? And why in such, as Isaac says, colorful manner? How could this be happening right now, in a generation? This is where Isaac and I differ."

Asimov scowled in a friendly fashion. "I do believe that Charles is a Platonic mystic."

Charles shook his head. "I am a man of science, Isaac, exactly the same as you. And I don't think you can ignore what the evidence is showing you. Mutations are not only 'colorful', as he says, but bizarrely so. There is almost a berserker quality to the variations among human mutations we are beginning to see. I think it is at least possible that these mutations are preparing the world for...something."

Maria looked thoughtful. " 'Something', sir? What do you mean by that?"

Asimov waved a hand. "He can't tell you, Maria, because he has no idea. Mysticism!"

The Professor shook his head. "You cannot deny the facts, Isaac. Look at Magneto himself. He has the power to shake the world. Why would nature throw him up, in a single generation? Unless some aspect of the world is about to change in the next few generations, and is preparing humanity for that fact." He paused, and sighed. "And of course, Isaac is correct. I am indeed propounding 'mysticism'. But I scarcely know what else to think. I believe that in the next generation or so, the world is going to--I don't know; 'need' is perhaps the best word, though I realize it is unscientific--so be it. It will 'need' the mutants in some way. And we will have to be ready." He looked around at his students. "Perhaps one of you will be the one who is 'ready'. Perhaps even one of you."

Maria listened with fascination. "Professor Xavier--is this the real reason why you started the X-Men? To get us--'ready'?"

He shook his head. "No, Maria. There is not enough certainty in my surmise to base any plans upon it. But I would be lying if I said that it has had _no_ place in my thinking, either."

Maria looked around. the others--Hank, Warren, Bobby, Scott, Jean--were listening with unfeigned interest. There was something in Jean's aspect that drew Maria's attention, but she couldn't decide what it was. Probably Jean herself didn't know. She turned back to Asimov.

"Isaac? If the Professor is wrong, and there's nothing--well--'mystic' about this, what _is_ the answer? Do you have a theory? Or even a surmise?"

He shrugged. "Honestly, Maria--I don't know! My esteemed colleague, Arthur C Clarke, has said that a sufficiently advanced technology would be indistinguishable from magic. Perhaps the same is true of a sufficiently advanced biology." And that was where the discussion ended, but Maria gave the whole matter a good deal of thought in the days that followed.

* * *

"Jean..."

"Yes, Maria?"

Maria was at the door to Jean's room that evening. "Could I talk for a second?"

Jean smiled. "Sure. Come on in." Maria did so, wearing a pair of pink pajamas that made her look, in her view, like a fudgsicle. "When Isaac hugged me in the classroom today, at the end of the lecture..."

"Yes?" Jean asked, with a wicked tone in her voice.

"Jean-he pinched my _ass_."

"Welcome to the club."

"...You're kidding."

"He calls it a perk of the job. I call him a dirty old man. We have as yet had no resolution as to this question."

"Why, Jean Grey! You should give him a telekinetic dunking in the pool!"

Jean sighed. "I did. The first time. Isaac insisted that this was the beginning of a tradition, and that he'd bring his swimming trunks next time. I quit after that."

"So I can expect that every time he visits?"

"Every single time."

"Oh." Maria considered this. "I guess it's not so bad."

"Really?"

"Well--I _am_ a fan. It's flattering, really."

"I hope he breaks his fingers on that silicon ass of yours."

"No, you don't."

Jean sighed. "No, I don't. I'm tired. Good night, Maria."

"Jean--"

Another sigh. "Yes, Maria."

"Were you frightened today? When the Professor talked about one of us maybe having to be 'ready' some day?"

A long pause. "Yes, Maria. Yes, I was frightened."

"Why, Jean?"

"I don't know. I just was."

"OK." Then: "Good night, Jean."

"Good night, Maria."


	9. A Wake-up Call

Chapter Nine

* * *

Charles Xavier leaned back in his chair and shut his eyes. Maria had done well in the Danger Room her first time out. The girl seemed to have a natural affinity for it. Well, the tests would get progressively more challenging. He'd see how it went. But he already had considerable faith in the girl.

He extended his thoughts out, across Westchester County, towards the Atlantic, over the ocean, sensing the curvature of the Earth...feeling the subliminal thoughts of millions of people as he passed over land and water, felt the accumulated life of all those individuals on both sides of the Atlantic... With a conscious effort of will, he darkened all those voices in the background and focused on a certain island off the Scottish Highlands. _Moira?_ his thoughts reached out. _Are you there?_

There...her thoughts came to him, and he zeroed in on her. _Aye, Charles. I'm here._

 _Have you had the chance to read the material about Maria Gianelli that I've sent you?_ he asked her.

 _Aye, Charles. That I have._ Moira paused in her thoughts. _Och, Charles. The poor wee bairn. The way she looks--there's nothing ye can do about it?_

Charles sighed mentally. _I can't see what, Moira. At least not yet. But that will not stop me. I am going to do_ _something_ _to help the girl. What that is, I cannot as yet say._ There was a glint of humor in his mental "voice". _I would say, however, that "wee bairn" is not the term I should use to describe Maria Gianelli._

_Nonetheless, Charles, my heart goes out to the lass. She must be miserable._

_Her heart is strong, Moira. She has courage and fortitude, matching--surpassing--that of the other X-Men. She is going to be very special indeed._

_Ach, Charles. I can hear the pride in your thoughts. I'm just glad she didn't get picked up by Magnus. That was gutty of the child--dealing with him as she did._

_She is already the most powerful member of the team. Just how powerful, I cannot yet say. That is why I am communicating with you now. Have you seen anything?_

Charles felt some hesitation on Moira's part. _Charles--it's very bizarre. Her readings, that is. I dunna know if I've ever seen anything like it before-- They're mutagenic, all right._ _That_ _isn't the issue. She's certainly a mutant. But they're so strange. I'll admit, Charles, I can't figure them out yet._ There was a pause. _The only thing they remind me of even remotely are Logan's readings. And yet, they're totally different._

Charles winced. _I was determined not to include Logan in my X-Men, Moira, as you know. At least, not at this time._ He paused. _Moira--the girl's power levels. Have you any idea yet what she's capable of?_

There was a burst of incredulity from Moira's mind. _My God, Charles--what_ _isn't_ _she capable of? Much of her limitations right now, I'm convinced, are self-imposed. She's afraid of her powers._

_So you believe she'll be able to maintain her Shift forms indefinitely, if she should ever want to? Gain increased control over her mass and energy? Utilize her abilities in ways she can't imagine yet?_

Moira mentally shrugged. _Ach, Charles--I dunna see why not. Charles--I believe she's as powerful as Magnus. At least potentially._

Charles was silent for some time upon receiving this news. _God help us,_ he finally thought.

 _Aye,_ Moira answered. _Ye have a lot on your shoulders, Charles. I pray the girl comes through this all right._

 _You aren't alone, Moira,_ Charles thought, breaking off the contact. He sighed to himself. On his shoulders-- He winced. It felt like the weight of the world at that moment.

* * *

"Consider your next witticism carefully, Mr Bond. It may be your last."

James Bond was writhing on a slab in a laboratory, his arms and legs bound. The legs were set apart, and slowly--but inexorably--a laser beam was cutting the slab in two, heading for his groin area. He wriggled some more, in vain.

He looked up at Auric Goldfinger standing above him--a large, gray-haired man with a pronounced German accent, and an air of very deceptive joviality. "If you kill me, they'll just send 008 in my place."

Goldfinger smiled. "Let us hope he will be more successful!"

There was a whoop in the small theatre room in the basement of the Mansion. It was an unfortunate fact that the students seemed to be rooting for the laser beam. As Bond looked desperately at the incoming threat to his crotch area, Maria gave out a cry of exultation. "The family jewels are in danger!" she said cheerfully, a sentiment that Jean echoed.

It was a curious fact, however, that the boys were somewhat less enthusiastic about this possible fate for Agent 007 than the girls were. Maria sensibly chalked this up to their hopeless immaturity, and went back to whooping it up.

"Do you expect me to talk?" Bond gasped at Goldfinger.

"No, Mr Bond, I expect you to die!"

"Professor!" Maria called out. "I think we have the perfect Danger Room test for Warren!" There was a shout of enthusiastic agreement, and Maria was pleased to note that the other boys approved at least approved of _this_ idea. Warren had no reaction, however, to this splendid suggestion.

"Students," Charles said softly. "You'll miss the movie." There was relative quiet for the moment, though Maria noticed--to her disappointment--that James Bond escaped the laser trap. The rest of the film was entertaining enough, though interest picked up considerably when Bond "reformed" Pussy Galore. It was the boys who took particular interest in this aspect of the story, much to Maria's disgust.

The film ended satisfactorily, and the Professor called the students into his study. There, he looked carefully at Maria.

"Maria," he said, "I've given careful thought to your code-name. I believe that simplicity is usually best, as well as being descriptive and apt. You describe what you do to change states as 'Shifting'. With that in mind, Maria, how does the name 'Shift' sound?"

" 'Shift', Maria said, working the word around on her tongue. " 'Shift'." She looked at the others. "Cyclops, Marvel Girl, Angel, Iceman, Beast--and Shift. It kind of has a ring to it, Professor. God knows I won't have to get used to it." She turned to the others. "Do you guys approve?"

Warren came over and brought her hand to his lips. "To Shift!" he said exultantly. "Welcome to the X-Men!"

"To Shift!" the others called out, and shook Maria's hand, with Jean adding a hug. But under the good wishes, Maria heard Bobby say almost under his breath: "There's one letter too many." Maria winced. Yes, Bobby was an immature clod. But that, she had to admit, hurt. She was glad that she was the only one who had heard him.

But as it turned out, she was wrong in thinking that.

* * *

Bobby Drake was having a dream of the Big Rock Candy Mountain. He was high above it on an ice slide, adding adornment to the top of the mountain. Soon, it would look like the brightest jewel in the firmament, and he could start to eat it like it was the world's largest ice cream sundae--

Then the dream suddenly shifted, and he was being carried out of his room roughly in some powerful arms. Then he realized that he wasn't dreaming, he was wide awake, and that the arms belonged to Hank McCoy. "Hey, Hank, what's the big--" But Hank put an enormous hand over Bobby's mouth, and Bobby watched helplessly as Hank carried him into Scott's room.

Things did not improve there. Scott was standing to the right of the door. Warren was over to the right, near the window. And by the bed--

Bobby gasped. Jean was sitting in a chair there, a very unhappy look on her face. "Hey, Jean--if the Prof knew that you were in this wing at night--"

"Be quiet, Bobby," she said softly, and Bobby shut his trap. Hank put him down, and he looked around--what was going on? They were all looking at him with pretty grim expressions--

"Bobby," Jean said, "we are all very disappointed in you."

"What have I done now?" Bobby asked, but he was starting to realize what was happening.

Hank scowled. "My dear Mr Drake--surely you aren't dense enough to plead ignorance. We've all seen--heard--your reactions to Maria's presence here at the Mansion."

"So _that's_ what this is all about?" Bobby said, knowing that it was, but desperately trying to play for some time to think.

Warren shook his head with genuine sorrow. "You know damned well what it's about, Bobby. You're the youngest, and we've tried to make allowances. We've been waiting for you to show some maturity. Apparently, we've been over-optimistic."

Bobby looked at Scott, but his expression was grimmest of all. "Bobby--we X-Men are a team. We depend upon each other in the field for our very lives. We have to be able to trust each other implicitly. Right now, I'm not sure that we can trust you. Do you realize the seriousness of that fact?"

Bobby almost choked. He hadn't meant anything by it--he didn't have anything really against Maria--but she didn't...

He stopped, not daring to even consider what his next thought was going to be. _She didn't look like one of us,_ was what that thought was, and it flooded into him despite all his efforts to avoid it. And he suddenly felt sick to his stomach.

Scott went on. "Bobby--this School is a refuge for mutants. _All_ mutants. Not just those who look handsome, or who can fit into 'normal' human society. Maria came here, knowing from the start that she couldn't do the things that you take for granted--like walking into the Coffee-a-Go-Go and ordering an espresso. Something as simple as that. She's spent four years of her life on the run, living in the wild almost like an animal, and yet educating herself as best she could, all the while being the target of hostile, ignorant humans."

Bobby was looking at the floor, wishing he could drop through it and sink into the center of the earth. He felt tears coming to his eyes.

"Maria has shown a courage and fortitude that you've never imagined, Robert Drake," Scott said, his voice going on inexorably. "Yes, her appearance is a shock at first. Do you think _she_ doesn't know that? But she is here nonetheless, and she has every right to assume that her fellow mutants, at least, will accept her for whom she is."

Bobby was crying openly now. Shame washed over him like a wave. The expressions of the others did not change.

"I love Maria as a sister," Jean said. "We all do, Bobby, in our way. This is her home. It is going to be a supporting and loving one. All of us are going to make it so. Including you."

Hank looked right into Bobby's eyes. "Compadre--being an immature fool does not make you an evil person. Merely an immature fool. But we must have an understanding right now. You know what this entails. You aren't stupid, Robert. You know how you've behaved, and you're rightfully ashamed. All you have to do is make the commitment, and we'll all go back to bed. I assure you, none of us shall ever mention this night again."

Bobby nodded, and wiped the tears from his eyes. "I guess--I guess when I screw up, I do it in a big-league style," he said finally in a croaking voice, not daring to try to smile. The others nodded.

"Bobby," Jean said, "we're not going to ask you to apologize to Maria. Not for your sake, but for hers. It would embarrass her, and bring all this to the Professor's attention. But she is a fellow X-Man, and one of us. You must swear that you shall respect this."

Bobby nodded his agreement, but found himself unable to speak. Scott spoke up.

"Bobby--you don't have to try and over-compensate with Maria. Don't try too hard. We'll just behave as if this first week never happened, and start afresh. Treat her as a new X-Man, a sister, a comrade. A friend. Hank is right--none of us will ever bring the subject up again, if you do your part."

Bobby was finally able to speak. "Scott, Jean, Warren, Hank--all of you--I've been an idiot. A stupid, insensitive jerk. I'm honestly surprised, now that I look at myself--I really don't know where that guy came from." He shook his head. "A mutant, treating a fellow mutant just as the most bigoted human would!" He looked at all of them. "I'm deeply sorry. I've learned my lesson. You'll never have to worry about me again."

Warren smiled. "Well, Bob--I wouldn't go _that_ far. Let's not ask for miracles."

The others smiled at that, and Bobby took a deep breath. Hank came up to Bobby and shook his hand, and left Scott's room. Warren gave him a rap on the shoulder, and did the same. Jean hugged him, and left without a word. Bobby finally looked at Scott.

"Guess I'd better get back to my room, huh?" he said.

Scott nodded, a slight smile on his face. "That might be best," he said.

"OK, Scottie," Bobby said. On the way out, he turned to Scott. "I've grown up a lot tonight. Thanks, leader-man. As they say--I needed that."

Scott nodded. "Yes, you did. But it took. I'm glad of that." Bobby just nodded, and went back to bed.

* * *

Maria lay in her bed. She had heard Jean leave her room, and heard her return. Like Bobby, Maria was crying. She knew what was going on. And she knew that Bobby would present no further issues. She was glad of that, obviously. But her tears were for--what were they for? For everything. For her mother and father, for Frank, for the freak show, for the four years of the Pitchforks and Torches, and above all, for finally having a home. For having people who'd stick up for her.

She turned over in bed. It had been a surprise, just how necessary all this had turned out to be for her--having a place to call home, people whom she could give her loyalty to. And Maria Gianelli was not one who gave loyalty half-way. She would do anything for these people. For the Professor. Even for Bobby.

"Shift". Short, sweet, _right._ The X-Men. Cyclops. Marvel Girl. Angel. Iceman. Beast. And now--Shift. Well, Shift was determined to carry her weight. Even in the diamond form, she thought as she dozed off into a dream about climbing the Big Rock Candy Mountain in the diamond form, looking for--why she couldn't say--a giant ice cream sundae...


	10. Portents

Chapter Ten

* * *

All time is the same, in the eyes of God. The difference between 10,000 BC and 10,000 AD is less than the blink of an eye to eternity. Even to those who walk the Earth as gods, the length of human history might seem to them as merely an incident--albeit a long one--in their existences. But to those of us who are born, live their lives, and die, in their appointed time, that time is all we have, and given this fact, it behooves us to consider, just for a moment, what it means.

Maria Gianelli joined the X-Men in June of 1964. At that time, what was to be called The Age of Wonders was already well underway. Already, humans rode into space and came back possessing the power of gods. Already, real gods walked the Earth--or at least, they thought of themselves as gods, and there was no reason for anyone to think otherwise. Already, of course, mutants were being born into the world, and their existence was a fact that every inhabitant of the planet had to take into account.

But was it really June of 1964? Debate rages in certain quarters about this. The Age of Wonders was such an extraordinary phenomenon that it has passed into legend. And like other legendary events--the Trojan War, King Arthur and the Knights of the Round Table, Atlantis, the life of Shakespeare--even the most basic questions of chronology are disputed. To take a very simple example--when, exactly, did the space flight that transformed Reed Richards, Ben Grimm, Sue Storm, and Johnny Storm into the so-called "Fantastic Four" occur? This question alone has spawned numerous scholarly controversies, none of which have ever been solved. There is a very simple _prima facie_ case that this event occurred in the year 1961. Evidence exists that the flight was documented and chronicled in that year. That should end the controversy.

And yet--equally good evidence exists that Reed Richards and the others were acting as the Fantastic Four well into the 21st Century, and possibly even beyond. And the chronicles of that era make it equally clear that none of them had even been born in the year 1961. Which means, of course, that Reed Richards and Ben Grimm could not have been World War Two veterans. And, consequently, that Victor Von Doom's background as a Gypsy, at odds with a powerful local nobleman, could not have happened in the era before war broke out in Europe in 1939.

Other examples could be cited, almost endlessly. Did Anthony Stark become Iron Man in Vietnam, in 1963--or in another Asian War, in the 21st century? Did the Age of Wonders co-exist with the Cold War era at all? The evidence that it did is so overwhelming that to enumerate it would take volumes. And yet, the evidence that the entire Era didn't even begin until after the turn of the 21st century is also extremely persuasive. How is this all to be reconciled?

Some simply say that the 1961 date is accurate, period, and that all later chronologies are hoaxes. Others say that the 21st century dates are the right ones, and the early dates are the hoaxes. But there are others--perhaps the most thoughtful--who think that, in some way, _all_ the chronologies are right. The evidence for parallel worlds existing within a larger Multiverse is extremely persuasive. Given this, some say that yes, the original flight that created the Fantastic Four was indeed in 1961. But once that happened, other worlds branched out from that Primal Event, and _their_ chronologies were influenced by factors in their own particular time-lines. What might seem to some observers as events that took place over fifty years, after 1961, actually occurred in a shorter span in any given universe.

Let us get down to cases. Let us take Jean Grey, the most mysterious and legendary of all the figures of the Age of Wonders. Everything about her is fiercely contested. But going on the basis of the best evidence we have, a number of paradoxes emerge. She was born in 1946, and joined the X-Men in 1963. And yet, she did not become Phoenix until 1976, and died in the year 1980. She was resurrected in the year 1985, married Scott Summers in 1994, and died again in 2004. And of course, all of that was only the beginning. But it is enough for our purposes. Which of these dates are the "real" ones?

All, perhaps, and none. The Jean Grey who joined the X-Men in 1963 might not be _exactly_ the Jean Grey who transformed the entire Universe in the M'Kraan Crystal in 1977. Legends from one timeline's chronology would get mixed up in legends from another one. The "Jean Grey" of, say, 1991--when the X-Men and X-Factor reunited--had joined the team, from _her_ perspective, about 1983 or 1984, and had experienced very similar, but _not_ identical, events to the "Primal" Jean of 1963. The reverse must also be true--that is, the Primal Jean of 1963 must have, in her turn, become Phoenix earlier than 1976, died and resurrected herself earlier than 1980 and 1985, married Scott Summers earlier than 1994, and so on. Which chronology is the "true" one?

These questions must remain open for now. Perhaps, in the course of this romance, they shall be answered. Perhaps not. To those who say that one chronology must be the "real" one, the one from which all others emerge as shadows of it--this might make a sort of sense, but there is no reason to feel that it is true. "Common sense" breaks down in this whole area, as it does, say, in quantum physics, which it is connected to. All we can do is explore the best evidence we have, and not to assume that any one time-line is necessarily "right", and the others "wrong". Again--we might get some answers before we are through.

Given this, then, we must assume that the life of Maria Gianelli, as this chronicle has shown it, is accurate for her and her fellow X-Men-- _for the purposes of this story._ And that is all that can be claimed for _any_ chronology of the Age of Wonders. This means, of course, that as of 1964, individuals who in some sense might not have come to the public's attention until much later--say, "1978", or "2005"--were actually present in the world of 1964. Let us take note of some of them.

...Eric Magnus Lehnsherr, otherwise known as "Magneto", was already of course a commanding presence in June of 1964. We see him, as we look at that far-off--yet ever-present in the eye of God--date. He is having a fit of temper, threatening his minions Jason Wyngarde and Mortimer Toynbee as he is wont to do, and simply raging at Pietro Maximoff, who is disdaining him. He is already searching for the one known as the Blob, and is closer than he realizes to finding him.

...Victor von Doom is brooding in Castle Latveria, still stung from the check he has received at the hands of a certain individual. The Lorna Dane robot is lost to him, and he shall have to create a new game for the Prime Mover. He wonders if the rumors that former U.S. Army Ranger Nick Fury will be appointed to head an intelligence outfit known as "SHIELD" are true. He remembers certain events from the 1950s, concerning an individual who called himself the Yellow Claw. Doom is beginning to see possibilities.

...Nathaniel Essex is sitting and contemplating his own cleverness. He is much given to this. The fact that both Scott Summers and Jean Grey are members of the X-Men pleases him immensely. They are where he can keep an eye on them--or so he thinks. He feels confident that they will fall in love, not aware that they have in fact already done so. He feels that this is in some sense his accomplishment. That they are puppets in his hands. He is incorrect about this.

...Bolivar Trask is a happy man. Ever since he has heard of the existence of mutants, he has been certain of what this means. A war between the species, that the mutants, despite their smaller numbers, will win. Time is on their side. He has been busy for years trying to find a defense. He is very close to the realization of that dream. He likes to imagine the look on Magneto's face, when he first lays eyes on one of his Sentinels. Trask does not realize that he is a fool.

...En Sabat Nur, otherwise known as Apocalypse, has seen the labors of a very long lifetime come to fruition. It is finally happening--the rise of mutants. He watches the doings of Magneto with great interest, as the crude first efforts of the world's mutants to take what nature has given them. He is content to let Magnus take the lead. He shall not succeed, of course, but Apocalypse is learning valuable lessons in the meantime. The only real obstacle is Xavier and his cubs. And they have a new recruit, a young tigress. Apocalypse respects strength, and he senses it in the girl Maria Gianelli. Soon, very soon, he will be prepared to act. But the players on the board need to weed each other out, just a little bit more.

...Sebastian Shaw is a mutant who hides that fact. He has become a success in the human business world, and has already joined the Hellfire Club, at this time not yet a front for mutants. It is very old and very respectable, which is remarkable, considering the nature of what goes on there. For Shaw, it is a stepping-stone. He has no real interest in mutant supremacy. Mutants are as much prey for him as humans are. There are the sheep, and there are those who fleece them. Both categories have humans and mutants amongst them. He will work with anyone who can increase his wealth and power. As time passes, mutants will probably predominate among the fleecers. That will be as it will be. He is not impatient.

...Emma Frost is adjusting her corset at the Hellfire Club, looking at herself in the mirror. A young woman of good family, she has become involved in the Club almost as a lark, really a slumming expedition. She has found that it is a serious business, even potentially deadly. This has increased her pleasure in the whole matter. She finds that she enjoys the danger, even gets a sexual kick out of it. She intends to rise in the organization, and thinks she is cut out for it. She is correct.

...The Genegineer of Genosha is looking at an endless slew of reports. He sighs to himself. It seems sometimes that the work will never end. His job is a cruel one, he knows that. Conscripting people, children, who had never dreamed what fate had in store for them. Dealing with recalcitrant families. Dealing with a civilian government that sometimes shut its eyes to reality. He knows perfectly well what the bleeding hearts in the outside world would say if they knew what happened here in Genosha. "Slave state". "Fascist". Comparisons to the Nazis. He sighs to himself. As if they were about to open their arms to their mutants! Well, Genosha had gotten rich by making other countries rich along with it. As long as that was true--as long as sensible men of business wanted to continue to do business--the bleeding hearts would bleed in vain.

...Ororo is flying around the crest of Kilimanjaro. There has been drought, and she felt the need to consult the Bright Lady. Ororo never feels closer to the Lady than here, at the summit of the sacred mountain. But her thoughts are not only on the drought, on the Lady, on the needs of her people. She thinks of her heart, and of the young man T'Challa. Would she be happy, as Queen of Wakanda? She knows he desires this. But as for her... She cannot decide, she thinks, as the Lady blesses her. Ororo returns to her home, to give the give of rain. But T'Challa remains in her thoughts.

...Near Lake Baikal, Peter Rasputin is plowing a field. As usual, he does not bother using a tractor. It would only slow him down. His baby sister Ilyana is watching him from the house, and he waves to her. Peter is feeling good. The brief summer is always a balm on his spirits. Peter's horizons are those of his field, his collective, the area around the lake. He does not feel the want of anything. He knows he is different from the others, but they accept him without any fuss. He is a good boy, and his strength is useful. He has no desire to ever leave.

...Cain Marko remains trapped under a mountain of rubble. He has been buried there for many years, but his slow pressure on the mound above him is steadily paying off. He can feel it beginning to yield to him. It will still take some months, but he has nothing but time. He does not need to eat, or sleep, or even rest. He feels inexhaustible, invincible. And his entire soul is directed towards one goal--to find and kill his step-brother, Charles. This is not even a conscious decision, it is simply the fulcrum of his existence.

...Kurt Wagner is swinging on a trapeze, somewhere in Germany. He has experienced the Torches and Pitchforks so familiar to Maria, but his devil-may-care attitude buoys him. If he can perform, if he can use his athletic abilities, then he will let the rest of the world go to hell, and let tomorrow go to hell, too. He has never heard of the word "mutant".

...Logan is doing a job for Canadian Intelligence. A wet job. His assignment is to extract some information from a certain man, then kill him. Both parts of the job are old hat to him, and he is very good at them. Indeed, at whatever he does, he is the best there is. But in fact, this particular target has done him a favor once in the past, something his superiors are not aware of. As a result, he will let the man live. If anyone ever finds out, or complains, he will let them know, in very explicit language, what he thinks of their objections. He hopes the job will be over soon, so he can make a long-delayed trip to Madripoor. Logan, as it happens, has heard the word "mutant", and indeed is familiar with Charles Xavier. The idea, though, that he might be an X-Man someday has never entered his head. He might, however, be interested in the possibilities that Jimmie Hudson has proposed. At least for awhile. None of his gigs lasts too long.

...in Deerfield, Illinois, a little girl named Katherine Pryde is sitting in her room, reading _The Lord of the Rings._ Katherine combines immense intelligence with great imagination. She gives herself completely to the story, as she does to everything she reads. The world of her imagination is more real to her than her real life, though she has no complaints about this. She is good in school, loves her family, and likes the Chicago suburb she lives in. But something inside her knows that someday, in some way, she is destined for adventures.

...In a dark room somewhere, a certain figure stirs. It has been busy for a long time, and is tired and hungry. It looks at its watch, and decides on one more hour of work. _I must do everything I can to get ready,_ the figure thinks to itself. _Doom is checked for the moment. That is a saving grace. But there are so many others...there is so much to do._ The figure gives a deep sigh. _I do not know how much time I have. I had originally thought at least four years. Now, I am not so sure. And the girl Maria is a wild card. She might upset all calculations in ways I cannot estimate._ The figure goes back to the desk and sits down again. _The pieces of the board are all in play. They are moving. And I am alone. To be honest, the odds are against me. That does not matter. I_ _must_ _succeed. The alternative is too terrifying to consider._

...and in Westchester County, Jean Grey is once again on the verge of waking up after some intense dreams. A dark figure--more--she doesn't know who, what they are, and she doesn't want to know because that would focus her mind too much and she'd wake up, and this state would be gone, with so much potential for enlightenment. The figures slowly vanish, and Jean suddenly comes face-to-face with a star. The light is blinding, but she doesn't need to squint or turn her face away. She is not dreaming, she knows that. The star fills the universe, and suddenly she realizes that she is in some sense _consuming_ it. She hears, no, rather _senses_ , terrible cries of despair. She knows that somehow she is responsible for them.

Jean gasped, as she came to full consciousness. What had happened? Her pillow was soaked in sweat. She was soaked with sweat. That star! It wasn't exactly a dream, because she was on that borderline between waking and sleeping she knew so well. But usually, that state had brought her enlightenment and a sense of peace, even if she couldn't always remember the details. But this--!

She shivered, cold despite the summer night. She went to the window, and looked up at the stars. That experience had been so intense--and so fraught with sorrow, and despair. And _she_ had in some sense been responsible. In the vision, she had been the agent of some extraordinary evil. The "consumption" of the star must have been a kind of symbol of that evil. Could that really be _her_?

It took Jean some time before she got back to sleep. Should she talk to the Professor about this? And tell him _what,_ exactly? That she had had a bad dream, on the brink of waking--for what else could it be, after all? She took a deep breath, then another. Finally slumber came again, and a deep, intense sleep without dreams. When she awoke in the morning, the dark shadow of the night had been forgotten, and she was her normal, cheerful self. But she avoided looking at the night sky for some time.

* * *

Maria looked through the lens. "Say 'cheese'!" she called out, and the X-Men, gathered around the Professor, smiled. Maria snapped the picture, and the light made them all blink. She put the camera down, fascinated that the picture would be ready in just a couple of minutes. An "instamatic". What would they think of next.

The X-Men, in their graduation caps, looked almost surreal, and Maria thought they all appeared just slightly self-conscious. There had been an "official" ceremony the day before for their graduation from Professor Xavier's School for Gifted Youngsters, and Maria of course had been absent from that. The students' families had been there--Jean's parents, Warren's, Bobby's, Hank's. Scott, of course, had no family. Some others had been there, too, including--despite his outraged protest when she first saw him--Dr Asimov. (And yes, when she later talked to Jean, she told Maria that he had given her another pinch. Maria felt bemused about this. Just maybe, it wasn't all that hot an idea. Just maybe, something would have to be done about this.) To Maria's surprise, watching as she was from a strategically advantageous hiding place, Dr Reed Richards and Dr Henry Pym were there. As was Dr Linus Pauling. And Dr Jonas Salk. And Dr J. Robert Oppenheimer. And even--her jaw dropped when she realized who it was--Dr Albert Schweitzer. And yes, Dr Martin Luther King as well. Maria was astonished. Did _all_ these people know the truth about this place? She noticed, to her amusement, that Professor Grey, Jean's father, seemed as nonplussed at the guest list as Maria was.

She removed the picture from the camera, and showed it around. Her fellow X-Men looked pleased. "Perhaps we should send a copy to Magneto, with the inscription 'wish you were here'," Hank said. This suggestion, Maria noted, did not gain the approval of the others. Bobby looked at the diploma. Maria had noted that Bobby had been rather subdued in the weeks since she had received her code-name, especially towards her. She felt a little sorry for him, but he had brought it on himself. His natural buoyancy, though, had come to the surface as the graduation approached, and she felt that he wasn't walking on eggshells around her all the time. Good. The sooner things were normal between them, the better.

"Professor," Bobby said, "these diplomas are blank."

"Naturally, my frosty friend," Hank said. "You don't expect it to declare you to be a full-fledged X-Man, now do you?"

"Well, no," Bobby answered. "But still, it seems kind of funny to have a diploma from the School proper, but nothing about our real purpose here."

The Professor smiled slightly. "My dear Robert--wasn't getting an education at least part of your 'real purpose'?"

Bobby shrugged. "You know what I mean, sir. Does the team itself change in any way, now that we've formally graduated from the School?"

The Professor nodded. "You know, Bobby, that's not a bad question. And the answer is 'yes'. Scott, as I said last month, is the team leader in the field. I shall be playing less of a role now when you are all in actual combat. It's time that you all took the next step towards being a team in your own right."

They all looked pleased at this news, Maria thought. They worked together so well, like the five fingers of a hand. How did she fit in? Maybe as a pair of brass knuckles, she thought with a laugh.

One hour later, they were all in the Danger Room. Training went on, graduation or no graduation. Maria was working with them now, and she had as many maneuvers and stratagems to learn as a football player with his Xs and Os. Indeed, her very presence had substantially changed their playbook. At the moment, they were dealing with robot simulations of the Brotherhood. Somehow, the robots had rudimentary versions of the real powers of their enemies. Maria didn't quite understand how this was possible, thinking that if robots could mimic mutant powers, then wouldn't they be as powerful as the mutants themselves? But the Professor had assured her that the robots only had very minute power sources, could only mimic the Brotherhood for a few minutes at a time, and even then possessed only just enough of their powers to provide some training for the team. When Maria asked the Professor where the robots came from, he became unusually reticent and didn't answer.

At the moment, "Quicksilver" was flashing around the Danger Room, while "Mastermind" waved his hand in Maria's direction. As the latter did so, the Room suddenly resembled the dead landscape of the Moon. Despite herself, Maria checked to see if she had any oxygen to breathe. In fact, "Mastermind's" powers, being purely mental, were beyond the robot's capacity to mimic, so the change in scene was provided by the Room's computer programming. But it looked so realistic!

"Shift!" she heard Cyclops call out. "Six-A, full-team mode!" For a brief second, Maria had to think--what the hell was Six-A...? Oh, yes... The others gathered together, and Maria's left arm Shifted into a ball, her skin taking on the texture of rubber, with the X-Men sheltered inside it. The oxygen would last long enough until they could determine whether it was safe to breathe out in the "real" world--that is, where Maria remained. The right half of her body in this Shift form remained more-or-less "normal", and her entire head was out of the "circle" as well. She took a breath, and the oxygen was fine. Of course, this being one of "Mastermind's" illusions, there had been little question of their actually being on the surface of the Moon. But one could never be sure what Magneto was capable of. He had had Warren trapped in space not so long ago. With Maria on the team, they didn't have to take chances.

She took a swing at the "Mastermind" robot, but in this Shift form she was physically weak. What the hell. The air was fine. She Shifted back to normal, and said, "everything's OK, Cyclops. Air is good."

Cyclops nodded. "Marvel Girl," he said. "Magneto is here. Find him."

Jean nodded, and swept her telekinetic powers through the Danger Room. "Quicksilver", meanwhile, ran around the X-Men--and right into an ice-enclosure that Bobby had made. The robot sped right into the side of the enclosure, and smacked against it hard. It fell, and did not get up.

"Pietro!" a voice called, and Maria saw the "Scarlet Witch" robot make a gesture towards Bobby. The Angel flew quickly towards the "Witch", and made an astonishingly intricate maneuver around her. Maria could see the robot getting confused. It's attention was broken, and Warren--to Maria's amusement, and definite approval--swung a fist at the "Scarlet Witch", knocking the robot out of the fight.

Meanwhile, Jean had swept her telekinetic powers through the room, and pointed to the corner opposite "Mastermind". "There, Cyclops!" she called out. She was pointing at a small shack, which appeared empty. But even as she did so, a large collection of metal debris that had been lying around the shack suddenly sprang to life, and quickly enveloped the Beast in a metal cocoon. "Magneto" appeared from the shack, with the "Toad" at his heels, hopping around the landscape frantically.

Cyclops immediately raised his visor and used his power-beam as a scalpel, scraping the metal overcoat from the Beast. As he was doing that, Maria noticed "Mastermind" to her right, raising his hand to create another illusion. "No, my boy, I think we've seen enough of _that,_ " she said to herself, and extended her arm towards him, her fist making contact with his face just before his illusion could establish itself. In her haste, she had thrown the punch with too much force, and the "face" of the robot came off, the gears and flashing lights being exposed beneath. Still, this did have the effect of disabling the robot, so he was out of the fight. Jean, meanwhile, had the "Toad" in the grip of her telekinesis, and was whirling him around and around. When she stopped, the robot looked groggy, and the Angel finished him off as he had the "Scarlet Witch".

In the meantime, Iceman, with "Quicksilver" lying prone in a corner, went at "Magneto" with an ice club. The latter shifted the floor of the Room under Bobby's feet, putting him off-balance. The Beast, liberated form his metal prison, was launching himself at "Magneto" feet-first, only to be stopped by a force-field. (And how, Maria wondered, had the Professor simulated _that?_ ) "X-Men!" Cyclops cried out. "Magneto Protocol, Two-basic! Shift--take the lead!"

Maria bent down to the floor and pounded it, sending a shock wave towards the robot. It seemed confused, and had to grab for balance. As it did so, Cyclops hit the force-field with a high-intensity power-blast, and Maria could see, from the robot's reactions, that the field was down. Immediately, Hank was on "Magneto", slamming right into the robot with all his strength. The robot went down, and as it tried to get its bearings, Marvel Girl picked it up with her telekinetic power and whirled it around as she had done with the "Toad". As she finished, Maria moved in and sent a strong right-- _wham!_ \--at the robot's head. Unlike "Mastermind", there was no ripping open the robot's face, but it was down, and wasn't getting up. _If only it could be this easy in real life,_ Maria thought.

The team took a breath, and surveyed the carnage. Well, Maria knew by now that this was easily repaired. The whole point of the Danger Room was to demolish it as efficiently as possible. A light went on in the control room above them.

"Well done, my X-Men," the Professor said. "Two minutes, twenty-four seconds. That sets a new record for the Brotherhood sequence."

Jean smiled. "We had some special help today, sir," she said, indicating Maria.

The Professor nodded. "Indeed, Jean. Well done, Maria. With one exception."

Maria didn't move or change expression. She knew what was coming.

"Maria--had this been a real combat situation, you might have injured or even killed 'Mastermind'. That punch was too hard. I'm afraid there will be be a demerit for that."

"Yes, sir," she said.

"As you know, Maria, we X-Men are pledged never to take life--either human or mutant. Not even in combat."

Maria considered this. That had been one of the rules she learned first-- "there's _always_ a way to avoid killing". She knew that in this test, she had over-reacted. But still...

"Professor," she said slowly, "I understand this. I approve the general idea. But..." There was silence, and she was keenly aware of the attention of the whole team on her now.

"But what, Maria?" the Professor asked carefully.

She took a mental deep breath, and pushed on. "Sir--what if there's a situation in which you have no choice between saving a fellow X-Man, or an enemy? You have a split-second, and if you delay, one of your teammate's lives will be in imminent danger. Does this rule override everything--even the lives of the others?"

The Professor looked thoughtful. "Maria--I cannot say what the answer to that should be. The question has never arisen, and I pray that it never does. But even to think in those terms is dangerous, though I know it is a natural question. If you go into combat thinking that killing can be a last resort, it will not remain a last resort."

"Yes, sir," Maria said quietly. "And yet, sir, we _are_ in combat. The way soldiers are. And the goal of the infantry is clear--'to seek out and destroy the enemy.' " She paused, feeling unhappy. "Sir--you were a combat soldier in Korea. You know that phrase well. Some of our enemies are no less dangerous to the world than Hitler and his minions were. Professor--don't misunderstand me. The thought of killing sickens me, and I swear I shall do everything I can never to have to kill. And I promised you when I joined that I would obey your rules, and I have every intention of doing so, with no mental reservations at all." The others were very quiet, and she understood that something important was happening. "Professor--'seek out and _destroy_ the enemy'. Not defeat him, thwart him, hamper his plans. _Destroy._ That was the rule of combat you lived by. Couldn't the case be made, that by _not_ having us act similarly, you're tying our hands against enemies who have no such compunctions? Thereby endangering us all, and the broader world?" She stopped, and looked at the floor. "And sir--I sure hope you have a good answer, because I sure want to hear one."

There was silence for a long time, then they heard the Professor sigh. "X-Men--please come up to the control room." They did so, and when they were there, the Professor took Maria's hand.

"My dear child--if you had done nothing else since joining us, you have proved your worth today. By asking a simple--but very basic and obvious--question. And it deserves the most honest answer I can give you." He turned to the others. "Let us all be honest with each other, please. Does anyone else have thoughts regarding this matter?"

The other X-Men had a variety of emotions on their faces. Hank spoke first. " 'Violence is the last refuge of the incompetent', to quote our friend Dr Asimov. Well, sir, violence is our life in many ways. But there is a difference between violence and killing. You have trained us to be a team, sir, and to use our powers. You have also trained us in what being an X-Man is supposed to be. I do not want us to kill."

Warren looked sad. "I agree, sir--up to a point. But Maria's point also makes sense to me. Our enemies' lives are precious--up to the point when they endanger our own. If I had to choose between them--I hope I don't, but if I do--then I'd prefer to save ours."

Bobby, back in his human form, shook his head. "Professor--I agree with you. We _have_ to find a way. I don't know quite how--it really isn't something that can be taught in the Danger Room. But--" He shrugged helplessly. "I dunno, sir. That's just how I feel."

Jean looked unhappiest of all. "Professor--all of you. I am torn. I agree with you, Professor--in my head. In my heart--" She looked down at the Danger Room. "In the heat of battle, Professor, I don't know what would happen, if I felt the life of one of my fellow X-Men were in danger. I just don't know."

Cyclops stood as still as a statue. "Professor--you named me team leader. That means that I have a responsibility to the others, to bring them back from missions in one piece." He looked straight at Professor Xavier. "But this is _your_ team, sir. You brought us together, and we are your instruments. If your rule is, 'there's _always_ a way to avoid killing', then as team leader, it is my job to find that way." He looked at Maria. "I must say, Shift's presence on the team makes that task considerably easier, in my opinion."

The Professor said nothing, and after a moment the X-Men heard a sound they had never imagined--Charles Xavier was crying softly to himself. They all immediately went to him to offer their help, but he put his hand up. "It's all right," he said after a moment. "I'm fine." He took a handkerchief and dabbed his eyes with it, and turned to them.

"My X-Men--I have never been prouder of you all, than I am this day. This discussion has justified my faith in all of you." He turned to Scott. "My boy--if I had any lingering doubts about your fitness to lead this team, they are vanished. Somehow, these last few months, you have gone from being a child to a man. Your answer was that of one man to another." He turned to them all, and Maria noticed that Jean's face was beaming as she looked at Scott. "All of you--you graduated this day. But in a more important sense, today has been your rite of passage into adulthood. Your moral centers are sound, no matter what your answers to my query." He turned to Maria. "And you, my dear--you have watched, and observed. You have brought your own mature judgment, and your hard-won personal experiences, to the task of being an X-Man. I am more pleased than I can say, to have you as one of us."

He looked at the wreckage of the Danger Room. "I have an answer for Maria, for all of you. You see what the consequences of a simulated fight are, out there. Against robots with barely a fraction of the power of the real thing. And this is despite all of you pulling your punches, except for Maria's lapse. Imagine that fight occurring in the real world--against the real Brotherhood. Indeed, you don't have to imagine, because you have fought them. My X-Men--if we went into our fights without the rule against killing, then those would not be robots lying inert--they would be real corpses. Even if we told ourselves that it would be a last resort."

He looked off into space. "Yes, I killed in Korea--and it sickened me. I was often in the minds of the men I killed--I could hardly help this. Experiencing it was like being in Hell. The toll it takes on those doing the killing is terrible, far worse than you could imagine. It was then and there that I determined that if I ever had young mutants in my care, they would learn to fight-- _that_ could hardly be avoided. But they would not learn to kill.

"Look again at the carnage in the Danger Room, my X-Men. Imagine that every time we fought. Because it would come to that. Once we let slip these dogs of war, there would be no turning back. We would become that which we oppose. We would become a mirror-image of the Brotherhood. I shall not permit that."

He sighed, and looked beseechingly at the team. "You ask: what if it is their lives, or ours? Of course, I do not expect any of you to permit a teammate to die. If it should ever be a choice so stark, of _course_ you save your fellow X-Man. But Scott is right. It is his job--your job-- _our_ job--to make sure that never happens. To be prepared enough to ensure that we avoid such circumstances." He turned to Maria. "My dear--this will be truest of all for you. With your powers, you can do great damage without even realizing it. That incident with the Mastermind robot is symbolic. Your strength is so great... You present immense opportunity, and danger. As Scott suggests, your very presence can help prevent killing, by making it easier to win our battles. But your strength can also be a danger. That is why you are so important, and why your training is so essential. But I have no doubts about your ability to absorb it. Maria, I have no doubts about you at all."

"Yes, sir," Maria said, looking at the floor as if it were the most interesting thing in the world.

"Maria--look up at me." She did so, and the Professor smiled at her. "My dear--your question was asked because of your concern for your fellow X-Men. For their safety. You have nothing to reproach yourself for." Maria said nothing, but then she suddenly sobbed and leaned over and hugged this man whom she loved like the father she had never really had. She stood up and gulped. "Sorry, sir," she said, and she would have blushed if she could have. The others were smiling broadly, and Maria noticed a particularly goofy grin on Jean's face.

"Does this answer your concerns?" he asked them all, and the smiles just remained, and they nodded and slowly made their way out of the Danger Room and back to the rest of the Mansion. Maria walked slowly, hardly noticing where she was going. She bumped into someone--

"Oh! I'm sorry, Bobby." Bobby Drake had a thoughtful smile on his face.

"Oh, that's OK, Maria," he said. "Every time I think I've learned something in this place, I find just how ignorant I really am." He looked right into her eyes. "Those eyes--they're really something, Maria."

She curtsied to him. "Why, thank you kindly, dear sir."

He grinned, and looked even younger than he was. "You know something? Your face kinda grows on a guy." And he was gone, and Maria went quickly to her room and started crying, not knowing if she was happy or sad and not caring either way.

* * *

Charles Xavier sat at his desk in the study. Cerebro's panels at his side showed the steady dim light of the known mutants: Magneto, Mastermind, the rest of the Brotherhood...the very dim light of Apocalypse, and watching this, Charles prayed that _that_ particular light never went on. The others--the Shadow King, Logan, Sabertooth, Proteus, Shaw, many others--showed signs of dormancy. Others--The Vanisher and the Blob--showed the signs of the mental blocs he had placed on them. Charles sighed. This was a burden on him, the mental lobotomization of other minds. The more he did it, the easier it became, and the easier to justify. This was particularly true in the case of the Blob. The Vanisher had actually been a threat, so much so that the White House itself had called the X-Men in. But the Blob? He had simply been minding his own tawdry business, and had done nothing more "evil" than to reject membership in the X-Men. And Charles had been prepared to invade his mind and cut out his memories, just because of that.

He shook his head. That had not been a sufficient reason to take such an action. In the end, he had had to do it anyway--not just to the Blob, but to an entire circus troupe of his companions. It had been an arduous task, and an exhausting one. But he was beginning to feel that his excuse--keeping their identities secret--was no longer good enough. There had to be another way. One that didn't involve his violating the minds, the very souls, of others.

He looked out the window at the hot, but clear, July evening. The students--except for Maria of course--were all out, taking a well-earned night on the town. Charles smiled to himself. He had even managed to get Scott out of the School for once. Bobby and Hank were going to the Coffee-a-Go Go, though God knew what sort of place _that_ was. Well, he trusted his students' judgment. They had asked Jean to come along, and she agreed, but only if Scott would come. That had put the poor boy on the spot, and he finally agreed with what he no doubt regarded as a smile. Warren then promptly declared that they would all need a chaperon, so he invited himself along, too. They had all left together, Jean having a firm hold on Scott's arm--in a friendly, comradely way. Or so she hoped it would appear, Charles thought to himself wryly. He wondered how long it would be before the two of them realized that everyone else knew all about how they felt towards each other. Being teenagers, the thought would mortify them. But being adults as well, probably not for long. And Charles Xavier definitely regarded Scott and Jean as adults now.

Charles listened closely. Maria was in one of the study halls, working on a project in American history and playing a Sibelius symphony on the stereo as she worked. He sighed. The poor child. What could she be thinking right now, as she worked here while the others were out by themselves? He was determined that Maria would not be treated like an outsider, or permitted to think of herself as one. How long could she stand never leaving the grounds of the School? He had invited her to a chess lesson, but she had wanted to get some schoolwork in. He would ask her again later, and this time he would not take "no" for an answer.

He leaned back in his chair, feeling suddenly melancholy. The job was so immense, and he had accomplished so little of it. The odds seemed overwhelming at times. Would he live to see the Promised Land, he wondered? Or would he spend forty years in the wilderness, and die before he arrived? His mouth twitched. That wasn't a particularly encouraging analogy.

And at that moment, Cerebro exploded.


	11. Return of the Blob

Chapter Eleven

* * *

Another show. Another good one, thought Fred Dukes. But then, they were all good. That was the only kind he knew how to put on. He felt a distant pride in this--give the rubes value for their money. What the hell, why not. Earn some of that big money they were paying him, he said to himself with a laugh.

Yeah, he thought, the big money, as he entered his trailer. He waved his arms, and said out loud to the walls, "hey! I got my suite at the Waldorf here!", and laughed to himself as he grabbed a beer from the fridge and sat down on the carefully-reinforced sofa. Taking a swig, he wondered if he wanted to turn the TV on. The reception was lousy here, and there probably wasn't anything on anyway. This area was too far from Pittsburgh to get the Pirates, and not close enough to Cleveland to get the Indians. Ah, fuck it. Maybe after the last show he'd go into town. There was _always_ some skirt who found him intriguing. Always.

He had almost dozed off when he noticed that he wasn't alone. "What the--?" He looked up, and standing above him was the gaudiest carny outfit he'd ever seen. The guy had on a long red underwear suit, a long cape over that, and a metal helmet that obscured most of his face. Fred almost laughed, but thought better of it. Whatever this guy's gimmick was, it was a good one. He realized that immediately.

"Y'want somethin', rube?" he asked, not impolitely. The figure didn't answer, just looked carefully at Fred. "Hey, rube, you might want to answer, y'know? Otherwise, I just might think you ain't up to no good, comin' into my trailer without so much as a by-your-leave, you know what I mean?"

The figure finally stirred. "Fred Dukes," he said softly, but the voice had an undercurrent that Fred didn't like. "Do you have any notion of what you are?"

"What I am?" he said with a chuckle, but he wasn't really in a funny mood. This rube had "bad news" written all over him. "Well, other than bein' a carny freak, you mean? OK, pal, I'll play twenty questions if you want. What am I?"

"More than a freak," the voice said, and Fred was suddenly listening hard. "Much more, Fred Dukes. You are a symbol of power. You are one of my kind--and I _am_ power. You are a mutant."

Fred felt flushed, though whether it was anger or embarrassment or even fear, he couldn't tell. Something about this man scared and impressed the hell out of him, but he couldn't have said why if his life depended on it. To cover up his confusion, he became angry.

"What I thought--a nut. Hey, rube, beat it, OK? Halloween ain't for another three months. Go haunt a house or something."

The figure, Fred thought, seemed almost amused. "I shall forgive you for that, Fred Dukes," he said. "Once. Because you do not know what you are saying. I shall not be so lenient again."

"Hey, didn't I tell you to beat it?" Fred said, now feeling annoyed. The last thing he needed were people he didn't know, no matter how much they might or might not impress him, coming in and throwing their weight around. He slowly rose to his feet. When it came to throwing weight around, nobody could touch him. And whoever this joker was, Fred _knew_ he couldn't harm _him_ any.

The next thing he knew, Fred was lying stunned on the ground outside what was left of his trailer. The walls were blasted open, and the stranger was looking out of them, staring at Fred lying there in the dirt. Well, fuck it. If this was how this clown wanted to play it--

"Hey, rube!" he called out at the top of his voice, and his fellow carnies, hearing this and seeing the destruction of his trailer, came to his aid. He got to his feet, just in time to see somebody hopping around among the carnies. Fred blinked, not sure he was seeing what he was seeing. _Hopping?_ But indeed, there it was--he could see the guy. He was calling frantically for his "master"--the guy in the red suit?

And there--a flash, so fast Fred wasn't even sure he had seen it. It looked green, or so he thought-- He looked around, and yes, there was definitely a green flash. The carnies tried to stop it, grab it, but it was gone before they could even turn their bodies towards it.

What the hell--? Suddenly, what appeared to be an earthquake struck the carny grounds. Fire exploded from out of the earth. The carnies panicked and started running in all directions, and Fred wasn't sure of his own direction for a moment. He looked at the man still standing quietly in the hole where his trailer wall used to be, as motionless as a statue, arms folded. Somehow, _he_ was responsible for all this.

The earthquakes and fires stopped, and Fred noticed over to the side of the carnival a guy in a moustache and an old-style suit, next to a real looker in a red outfit--he wondered if she was hooked up to this guy here with his arms folded quietly. Some of the carnies had their hands on the guy with the moustache, but the gal gestured with her fingers, and all sorts of debris tripped up the angry carnies. She and the other man managed to escape their wrath.

Fred turned to the stranger standing in his trailer's wreckage. "OK, pal," he said reluctantly, "you've got my attention. What's your real angle?"

The figure sighed, and Fred was astonished to see him levitate himself out of the trailer to the ground in front of him. Suddenly, he made a savage gesture, and Fred again found himself being tossed around like a bowling pin. His first reaction was astonishment--who could do this to _him?_ Then his anger came back, but he knew by now to keep that in control with this guy. He looked. The others--the hopping guy, who was dressed like something out of Shakespeare; the green blur, who turned out to be a guy with white hair in a green costume; the guy with the moustaches, who looked frazzled; and the tomato in the red outfit, and yeah, she _was_ a looker--they all gathered around the man who had handled Fred so roughly. Wait a minute...

Something was happening to Fred Dukes. He shut his eyes, and put his hands over his temples. Geez, his head hurt--

"I'm trying to adjust the iron level in the blood running to your brain," The tall figure said. "Charles' mind-control, alas, is very thorough. This might not work-- But I _think_ I can restore your memories to you."

Fred panicked. This guy was screwing with his mind! For some reason, that thought terrified Fred Dukes. No, no, he thought frantically, you gotta stop this--don't do this to me--not again--

A dead stop to his thoughts. _Again?_   Had it been done before--?

Another carnival. Some kids--

A building. A big one. A guy in a wheelchair, those same kids in costumes--

Costumes?

_The X-Men._

And with that realization, everything came back to Fred Dukes, and he let out a scream of pure rage. He cried out, and pounded the ground, and cursed, and acted like the giant baby he appeared to be to the world, and for once he didn't care. Tears came to his eyes, he was so angry and so filled with hate.

"He--did--this--to--me," Fred said slowly, looking up at Magneto. Jesus, of course! _Magneto._ How the hell did he not recognize _him?_   "You did it, didn't you? You gave me back my memory!"

"I did," Magneto said softly. He said nothing more, made no more gestures. "And I'm sorry for the treatment I just doled out to you, but you needed to listen to reason. I take it you know what Charles Xavier and the X-Men did to you, now?"

"He took my memory away from me," Fred said, still unbelieving. "He just cut my mind out, like he was a goddam surgeon. A fucking mad scientist." He stared at Magneto, at the others. "You're the Brotherhood, aren't you?"

"We are," said Magneto.

"Well..." Fred took a deep breath, and checked himself. Nothing was hurt, of course, but after all, this _was_ Magneto. "They were afraid I'd join you. They asked me to join _them,_ and I told 'em to go jump in the lake. And they were afraid I'd join _you._ " He glared at them. "Well, maybe I would have, and maybe I wouldn't have. But my God!, nobody does this to me. I'll show that sonuvabitch with the cueball head. And that arrogant bozo with the wings. And that red-haired babe who looked at me as if I were made of horse-shit. And that skinny creep who talked to me like I was nothin'. All of 'em." He approached Magneto, and put out his hand. "Well, brother Magneto, if you want me you got me. All I ask is that I get to have another crack at the &$*@^% X-Men."

Magneto put his hand out. "I believe that can be arranged, Mr Dukes. Welcome to the Brotherhood of Mutants." They shook hands.

* * *

The Coffee-a-Go-Go had had an interesting evening, even by its standards. Bobby looked around at the scene. Zelda, the waitress--his real reason for coming here, he had to admit--was staring at the front table by the performing stage. Bernard had been forgotten, while the modern jazz band that accompanied him was tuning up quietly but chaotically among themselves. The other patrons were congregating around the front table, their eyes popping out of their heads. And all because Hank had decided to take his shoes off.

The center of attention was sitting in one of the chairs at the table, leaning back as Artesia the Serendipitous One--she had a real name, but refused to share it with anybody else; she insisted that bad karma came of sharing names too readily--was painting Hank's feet. On one of them was a very lovely human face, with flowers bordering it. Hank's foot was big enough for the Sistine Chapel, Bobby thought with a grin. The other foot had a portrait of J Edgar Hoover on it. Artesia had insisted that only the blackest infamy was compatible with the beauty that she intended for the other foot, a notion that had gained instant acceptance from the other patrons. They had to be worthy of their new guru--that is, Hank, who was accepting his new status with what could only be called mixed emotions.

Meanwhile, Warren was standing on the far side of the stage, chatting it up with a lovely female bongo player with very long, straight hair and no make-up. Bobby sighed to himself. Warren was only in it for the practice--after all, he could hardly begin even the preparations for anything, even a mild make-out session, if all anyone had to do was put her hands on his back and squeeze and feel--wings? Even ones forced into place by a harness? That, Bobby thought wryly, would cramp anyone's style. A sudden thought came to him--was that why Warren had been so determined to win over Jean? Because as a fellow mutant, he wouldn't have had to hide his wings from her? Bobby had a sudden very naughty thought of what it must like to be a gal, making love to a winged man.

He blinked, and decided to think of something else. (Warren--and Maria? _She_ was a mutant, as well. And Bobby would bet money she could handle a pair of wings easily enough. And Warren seemed to like her. As Bobby himself did, he admitted to himself, now that his period of jerkiness was over. She really was fascinating looking, in a way. Not his type, but she sure would be somebody's.) He looked at the table where Scott and Jean were sitting. He and Hank had been keeping them company, until Hank had his bright idea of removing his shoes and starting the riot. Scott looked bemused, and vaguely in a panic, as if not sure just what the others had gotten him into. Jean had a huge smile on her face, had laughed gaily at the sensation Hank had caused, and looked at Scott in a way that Bobby had no trouble identifying. He sighed to himself. If only someone, anyone, would just sit the two of them down and explain the facts of life to them both. Well, maybe this evening would be the start of something. He knew better than to mind other people's business. And he wasn't about to make any false moves with _anybody_ for a long, long time to come.

Zelda walked over to him. "Oh my God, Bobby--where did those feet come from?"

Bobby shrugged. "Good genes, maybe?"

"Genes? Oh, Bobby, he'd have to be a mutant or something!"

"Isn't everybody?" he asked archly, and she laughed and gave him a small smack on the ribs. Hank, meanwhile, had decided that he rather liked the status of guru, and had commenced to give the denizens of the Coffee-a-Go Go a lecture on aesthetics. He began with the calligraphy of the Sung Dynasty in China, went on to popular misunderstandings of book printing before the days of Gutenberg, continued with how William Blake wasn't really an isolated crank but part of a culture of opposition that was already well-established by his time, and finished with some notes concerning modern jazz and poetry, for the elucidation of Bernard and the band, who listened to this speech with rapt interest. For her part, Artesia looked upon Hank as a High Priestess would her idol.

"Oh, my God!" she said, voice filled with awe and wonder. "You talk, too!"

"For a certainty," Hank said. "My verbalizing skills are of the highest order, I assure you."

"Would you permit me to bear your child?" Artesia asked. "The union of our talents would produce something that would shock the world!"

Bobby couldn't help it; he snickered, and then looked at Warren and Jean, and they were doing something more than that, and all three of them broke out into an hysterical fit of laughter. It just rolled and rolled over them, and soon even Scott was joining in. Hank, meanwhile, tried to put a benign expression on his face.

"Alas, fair acolyte," he said, "I deeply regret to inform you that such a thing is impossible. I believe that it behooves me to stand apart from too intimate association with my followers--history has shown the dangers of mixing philosophy with the carnal desires of the flesh--" Bobby, if anything, laughed even harder. Hank was swimming in a sea of confusion right now, and maybe there was something in the air that was helping the mood along. Quite literally something in the air, he decided, as he sniffed a very sweet odor wafting through said air. Was that what he thought it was--?

He was never to be entirely sure, because at that instant he heard a sharp mental command from the Professor: _X-Men! There is a Code One emergency. You must congregate at once. Go to rendezvous point Omega and await further instructions._ Bobby, shocked out of his mellow mood, immediately came to and ran for the entrance to the club. Jean and Warren were on his heels. Scott seemed to be holding back slightly, and Bobby realized that he was getting a private communication from the Professor. Hank, meanwhile, was having problems with his worshipers, who were loathe to see him depart.

"I--said-- _good-bye,_ " he finally said, and bounced off the walls like a ping-pong ball on his way to the exit. Outside, Warren looked at him.

"That might not have been the best way to keep our secret identities, Hank--a stunt like that."

Hank shrugged. "Forget it. The only thing they would have noticed was anything normal." He looked at his feet. His shoes, in fact, had been left back in the club. "Well, I'm going to have the loveliest feet in the history of super-herodom tonight," he said.

" _I_   think you look darling," Jean said sweetly, as Scott finally joined them. "Come on," he said grimly. "The rendezvous isn't far off." He smiled slightly, to their surprise. "We're to wait there for some special help."

* * *

Charles looked up, still brooding about his failures with the Blob, and uncertain about sending the X-Men into action against both him _and_ the Brotherhood. Maria stood there, in her X-Men costume, her hands on her hips.

"I'll take the _Blackbird_ into New York and join the others," she said, in a voice that didn't brook argument. But Charles' reaction was immediate.

"Maria--get out of your costume. You are not yet ready for this."

"And just when will I be, sir?" she asked carefully. "When the others are dead or injured? Professor--even against the Brotherhood alone, the X-Men have their hands full. With the Blob on their side, too? They're out of their weight class, if you'll excuse the expression--and, sir, you know it. Professor--you _know_   I have to do this."

Charles Xavier shut his eyes. He felt almost a physical rush of pain, of revulsion--at forcing this girl, at forcing any of them, into combat at their ages. And he felt the strongest rush of pain in the knowledge that it was a cruel necessity, that the world mandated that his X-Men had to fight, that if he hadn't found and brought them together for this purpose they would all be alone out there, waiting to be picked off either by ignorant human mobs, or by Eric and his Brotherhood. Charles felt the weight of the world on his shoulders right then, wishing devoutly that this necessity, this decision, hadn't been forced upon him. Then he sighed, because wishing was no good, and that the world was the way it was. And he knew then that Maria was right. She was still green, but she had to prove herself some time. It was earlier than he wished. She _wasn't_ ready. But that was irrelevant. Here the crisis was. And she was the most powerful of them all. Not to send her into action, when the odds were so stacked against the X-Men, was unfair to the rest of the team.

He sighed. "Maria--can you fly the _Blackbird?_ "

"Oh, yes, Professor!" she cried out, almost in ecstasy that she had won the argument so easily. "I've been trained in everything!"

He smiled slightly. "But this will, in fact, be your first actual experience flying it?"

"I've got to start sometime, sir." Charles nodded. Well, the logic of that was self-evident. She did indeed have to start sometime. "You've read everything we have concerning the Blob, Maria?" he asked. "There have been no Danger Room tests, because I did not think he would ever be a threat again." And that was foolish of him. He had underestimated Eric, somehow. He must never do that again.

"Oh, yes, sir!" she cried out. "A big 500-pound baby that nothing can move. Don't worry, sir. _I'll_   move him." And Charles did smile this time. He had no doubt but that, one way or another, Maria would indeed move him. He discussed the rendezvous point with her, and asked her to be careful piloting the _Blackbird_ \--hopefully, he thought, it would be identified as a police helicopter if it was sighted. He sighed to himself. He didn't like flying the craft over the city, but sometimes it couldn't be helped.

Maria was already running towards the hangar, and Charles wished her Godspeed. He chuckled to himself--if the _Blackbird_ _was_ sighted, and Maria seen piloting it, would it be chalked up as a UFO?

* * *

Magneto felt confident. With Dukes at his side, his band was more than a match for the X-Men. Unless, that is, the Gianelli girl were with them. He snorted. Even then! He owed that girl a debt, and he felt very much like paying it this evening.

They were in Queens, a relatively sparsely populated section not far from Belmont racetrack. He owned through cut-outs a garage and warehouse, and it was on this property that he and the Brotherhood awaited the X-Men. He had offered a challenge to them, and knew that they would respond. And he would crush them. Once they were gone, Charles would be easy pickings. Magneto did not relish the idea of killing Charles, and perhaps it would not be necessary. The deaths of his students would be such a traumatic event for him that he would no longer be a threat--just a broken man, unable to function. Magneto hoped so. As long as Charles was no longer a rival, and as long as his plans no longer hampered his own...

He sighed to himself. He took no relish, for that matter, in the deaths of the X-Men. But the choice was stark--either they died, or they would continue to be a counterforce to his own Brotherhood. Had the X-Men not existed, Maria would have had no refuge other than with him. And there were others, too. Without the X-Men, Magneto could accumulate those young mutants at his leisure. And his own dream--of a world dominated by mutants, with himself as their leader--would come, maybe much quicker than he could have guessed. Meanwhile, the X-Men would fall into the trap, and he would end this. Quickly.

He looked over at the others. Wyngarde, as usual, was reserved, trying to look as if he was marshalling his resources. Magneto knew better. He was merely trying to screw up his courage. He'd be adequate in the battle--that's all Magneto expected, and less than that he would not accept. Fortunately, Wyngarde knew this. The Toad-- Magneto couldn't bring himself to even _think_ of him by his real name. His contempt was too great. Just don't get in the way, he thought, looking over at him in his jester's costume. If he did, he would be sorry he was ever born. Quicksilver. There he was, standing quietly, looking out at the enveloping dusk. Magneto did not always know what to make of him, our Pietro. He was not afraid of him. And, Magneto had to admit, there had been nothing he could do to get Pietro to fear him. Magneto respected that, even while it exasperated him. He looked over at Wanda. There was no concern on _that_ score. Wanda indeed feared him, and everything else in her life. Not for the first time, Magneto wondered if that was entirely a good thing. If Wanda were wound _too_ tight, God alone knew what might happen. Her powers were frankly beyond his ability to figure out. Charles might be able to learn more... He shook his head. No, that was not an option.

And the guest of honor. Fred Dukes was waddling around in the entrance to the garage, looking out at the evening and the grounds of the warehouse-garage complex. Here was a being blessedly free of complex motivations. Food, drink, women, and he was happy. And revenge. Yes, indeed, Magneto thought with satisfaction. Charles had given this man reason to hate him. And tonight, he would pay for that--with the lives of his students. Looking carefully at the Blob, Magneto wondered if just possibly, Dukes might have served his purpose if that eventuality--the deaths of the X-Men--occurred. After all, what could one actually _do_ with Dukes in the long run? Watch him eat yet another pizza and pick up yet another thrill-seeking human woman? Perhaps it was for the best that the Blob die a hero's death against the X-Men...

"Here they come!" cried the Toad, hopping in his anticipation. Dukes scowled, and waddled out into the yard, his hands over his head, calling out a challenge. Magneto smiled, and made a gesture towards the X-Men's vehicle. It came apart at the seams, and they all started to fall to the ground.

______________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

Scott Summers looked impatient. The team was in costume now, and waiting at a spot in the woods near the east end of Central Park. He wondered for a moment if a mugger might try to accost them. Well, that mugger would be a very unlucky one indeed, he thought with a laugh. No, he was more concerned about a policeman blundering across them, as they waited for Maria and the _Blackbird_. Magneto himself had conveniently given them his address. A trap, of course. Well, Scott felt like obliging him. He watched the others. Warren was standing there, poised and confident as usual, just itching to get going. Bobby, in ice form, was holding a small ice club in his right hand and smacking it against his left hand. He looked like he wanted to get going, too. Hank was looking out at the sky carefully, watching for the _Blackbird._ He seemed in an exceptionally good mood, and Scott, remembering the smell inside the Coffee-a-Go-Go, didn't wonder too much why. For that matter, he felt pretty good himself. As for Jean, she was quiet and looking at him. He gave her a small smile, which she reciprocated. For an instant, Scott felt his heart break. Jean's smile made him forget Magneto, the Blob, everything. Then of course his training and discipline took over, and he looked to the sky to see the _Blackbird_ coming in their direction from the north-- _just in time,_ he thought to himself, flushing slightly.

Maria was handling the craft adequately, if not elegantly. The others got inside, and Scott spelled Maria at the controls. The _Blackbird_ rose, and Warren, sitting next to Maria, smiled at her.

"Nervous, kid? Your first real shot at action?"

"No," she said. "Oh, God, I'm such a liar. Yes, of course."

Warren grinned. "Welcome to the club, Maria. But I like our odds a lot better now." Scott was pleased to see Maria smiling warmly at Warren, as they crossed the East River. They approached the outskirts of Queens in a very short time, and he lowered the _Blackbird_ as they neared the address Magneto had oh-so-conveniently provided them.

* * *

"There's the Blob!" Hank called out. "Let's annihilate him!" And indeed, Maria saw a large, very fat man wearing nothing but a diaper standing in the yard of a warehouse, hands raised in anger at them and yelling something--Maria couldn't hear the words, and that was probably just as well. Just as the craft was coming in for a landing, it suddenly lurched, and them simply _fell apart._ The debris--and they--started falling to the ground.

"Magneto!" she heard Scott call out. "Warren--get me! The rest of you, land as best you can." And indeed, Hank simply jumped out clear of the debris and landed easily on his feet. Jean let her telekinesis check her descent. Bobby made an ice-slide. As for Maria, she simply fell to the ground with a _thud!_ , barely feeling it as she got to her feet. As she did, a green blur passed her by, moving among the X-Men like lightning. She saw Hank take a hit from it and stagger, although he didn't fall to the ground.

"Marvel Girl!" Cyclops cried. "Quicksilver! Get him! And Shift--you're on the Blob. Make sure he can't bother the rest of us. Go!" Maria moved forward, noticing as she did that Jean had Quicksilver in a telekinetic circle, swinging him around and around, much like in the Danger Room sequence. But that was the last she noted of what happened to the others for awhile, because she then found herself face-to-face with the Blob.

* * *

Fred Dukes let loose with all the obscenity he knew as the X-Men came closer. And that was a lot, he admitted to himself with a chuckle. Too bad they couldn't hear any of it. Well, they would before the end. He was determined about _that._

Then their craft came apart at the seams, just as Magneto had planned. They fell--to his disappointment, they all got to the ground OK, the winged freak getting Cyclops down. Wait a minute--who was _that?_ Fred stared at a tall, rather ungainly figure who simply plopped down on the ground and got up. Magneto had said something about a new member of the team, but Fred hadn't really listened--it didn't matter to him how many of them there were, as long as he could get his hands on them. But this one--could it be--

My God, it was! This figure was a skirt, he realized with some excitement. And more--a tough one. She seemed to be made of granite, or dirt, or dried horse-shit, or something. Her "hair" just hung there like old seaweed. Her face was out of a nightmare, though it had no particular expression on it as she moved closer to him. He whistled.

"Oh, babe," he said. "I think I'm in love. Wanna skip this party, dollface, and go have a private one of our own?" And he laughed, and went to meet her. She threw out a fist that seemed to get bigger as it approached him--hey! how did she do that?--and he stood his ground...

And the fist slammed right into him, and he moved back. Maybe an inch. He blinked, and whistled again.

"Sweetcakes--that was impressive. No, I really mean it. _Nobody_ does that to me. Didn't hurt, of course. Nothin' can hurt me. But you moved me." He laughed, a nasty laugh. "Now let's see how you can take it."

* * *

Maria licked her lips, wondering what the hell had just happened. She had hit him with about 75% of her strength, remembering what had happened to the Mastermind robot and recalling the Professor's words about injuring--even killing--their opponents. She laughed to herself. She needn't have worried. The Blob was moved back an infinitesimal amount, and laughed at her, and gloated a little, then moved onto the attack himself. She moved to meet him, and their arms interlocked, and their faces were right next to each other, and both of them put forth their maximum strength, and she could feel herself moving into a zone she had never experienced before--a zone where she was exerting her full strength against a deadly opponent who, she instinctively realized, was trying to _kill_ her. For a moment, she was tempted to just lie there and let him try. She doubted he could succeed. But what if she was wrong? And would doing that help or hinder her fellow X-Men? Maybe he'd just ignore her and go attack another one. No, girl, pour it onto this big baby--he'd fall first. She was certain of it.

* * *

Meanwhile, The Scarlet Witch had freed Quicksilver from Marvel Girl's telekinetic trap, and he had sped back to Magneto's side of the battle. The Toad had had the misfortune of meeting up with a very frustrated Beast, who took out those frustrations upon the said Toad. This didn't take very long, and the Toad was soon out of the battle.

Magneto shrugged. The Toad scarcely mattered. Then he stared hard. What in blazes--? Yes--there could be no doubt: on the bottom of the Beast's foot, as he finished off the Toad--a picture of J Edgar Hoover. For a brief moment, he wavered in his plans to kill the X-Men. Could he really do so, without knowing just what _that_ was all about? He sighed to himself, and regretfully concluded that he could. "Get the missiles ready," he told Wyngarde, who nodded and retreated to a section of the garage.

* * *

Fred Dukes was grunting. He had never had a test of his strength like this. He thought for sure that the skirt would fall before this, and she hadn't. What was worse, he had the feeling that she was holding back--that there was stuff she could be doing, and wasn't. He didn't like this feeling one bit. Finally, with a burst of strength fueled by sheer frustration, he forced the skirt to the ground, and fell down on top of her.

* * *

 _So this is the glamorous life of a super-hero,_ Maria thought as she rolled in the dirt and mud with a five-hundred pound adult baby wearing diapers. The Blob grunted above her, and finally got to the top position, and tried to pin Maria beneath him. She wiggled and squirmed, but the Blob was finally in a position from which he could utilize all of his strength, and Maria felt herself pinned. She grunted, and tried to extricate herself, but nothing was happening. Hold on--the Blob, in attempting to maintain his position, suddenly exposed his crotch, for just a second. Well, it was enough. Very quickly, Maria came up with a right hand, and with all her strength smashed it into the Blob's family jewels. There! _That_ should knock the fight out of him!

The Blob just grunted, and looked appreciatively at her. "Hey, sweetcheeks," he said with a broad, nasty smile. "That's the best hit I've had there in I don't know how long. How'd _you_ know that was my favorite game?"

Maria shut her eyes, opened them again and just glared at the Blob. "You can't still be fighting after that," she said to him. "You just _can't._ "

"Well, whaddaya know! It talks!" He leered, getting right in her face. "Hey, babe--you _sure_ you don't want to cut out of this scene, and maybe we can make each other happy? I mean, if we ain't made for each other, who is?" He paused a moment. "I'm almost half-serious, toots. Let Magneto take out the X-Men. You an' me--" And he leered again.

Maria shut her eyes again. _Jesus, girl--what's the matter with you?_   She suddenly realized she didn't have to remain in this position of disadvantage. She started to Shift--

* * *

Fred Dukes was still staring at this granite girl, still leering, when the whole world went topsy-turvy. He looked startled, as she-- _changed._ And as suddenly as that, he found himself squatting on a half-ton of pure diamond.

"Cripes!" he called out, and she shook hard, and the impossible happened--Fred Dukes was moved off her, against his will. He tumbled to the ground, and the diamond form stood up above him. He gawked up at her, and she grabbed him by the diaper and brought him up to her eye level.

"Want to try your 'game' now, Blob?" she asked in a very husky voice, and for the first time, the Blob felt afraid.

* * *

Scott and the other X-Men watched Quicksilver and the Scarlet Witch scurry into the garage, and he slowly moved the team into a position surrounding it. He had no doubt but that Magneto was planning some new trap, and he was constantly watchful for the least sign of it. Meanwhile, Maria and the Blob were going at it hot and heavy. Shift, he was pleased to see, was holding her own with him. But then, he pulled her down, and they were rolling over and over. --There. He seemed to have her pinned. _Shift, Maria! That's your name, after all. Shift!_ Instead, she gave him a massive blow right to his most delicate area. Scott winced, and he could see the male members of the team doing likewise. (Marvel Girl, to his horror, smiled appreciatively at the maneuver. She seemed to notice his reaction, because her smile broadened as she looked at him. Was he really as naive as he appeared to himself right then?) As it happened, however, the Blob seemed to take no notice of the assault on his private parts. Indeed, he just smiled at Shift and said something to her they couldn't hear. But then--

Then, Scott noted with relief, she finally Shifted--into the diamond form. She picked up the Blob and started to shake him. (She _picked him up!_ Cyclops could scarcely believe it.) At that moment, there was an explosion from the garage. Missiles! The team immediately sprang into action. Cyclops turned his power-beam on one of them, and it exploded before it could get close enough to the X-Men to do any damage. Another went towards Bobby, and he made an ice-tunnel that the missile entered, and thus rose rapidly into the sky and exploded harmlessly hundreds of feet above their heads. Hank, meanwhile, grabbed one of the missiles with his feet, and guided it as well harmlessly into the sky, where it too exploded without damage.

As this was going on, Maria put the Blob down, and--still in the diamond form--moved towards her fellow X-Men to give them aid. The Blob, shaken but still angry, followed her. The other X-Men had all retreated from the garage area when the missiles were launched. All seven of them--the X-Men and the Blob--met in the center of the warehouse grounds.

* * *

Magneto raged. "Curse their luck! Those X-Men have more lives than a cat!" He glared at them. "Wyngarde--we have the one missile left?"

Mastermind smiled coolly. "Indeed, Magneto, we do. The biggest one--the 'pacifier'." He laughed slightly at the irony of the name. "I do believe that they will not be able to survive this one. Not even our Miss Gianelli."

Magneto nodded, satisfied. "I agree, Wyngarde. And this one I shall guide myself--no exploding in the atmosphere this time! Launch it!"

"No!" Wanda called out. "Magneto--what about the Blob? You'd kill him, too! He gave you his trust--you made him one of us! We can't just condemn him to death!"

"That's _his_ hard luck!" Magneto hissed. "He's served his purpose, anyway. What good can he do us? Wyngarde! Launch!"

And Wyngarde did.

* * *

"There's one more!" Maria cried out. "Everyone--get behind me!"

"No time!" Scott called out. "The Blob--behind him! Now!" As the last word came out of Cyclops' mouth, the missile reached them and smashed right into the Blob. There was an explosion, and a shockwave, and all of them--even Maria--fell to the ground. When the dust cleared, they looked, fascinated, as the Blob sat on the ground, blinking, a little shaken but absolutely unharmed. The others slowly got to their feet, Maria now back in her natural form. They looked at the Blob, and he looked at them.

* * *

"I don't believe it!" Magneto shrieked, closer to losing control than Wanda had ever seen him. "The Blob--the Blob--" He trailed off, shaking his head in disgust. "Never mind. This plan has failed. The X-Men are united, with the Gianelli girl beside them. The Blob--" Magneto shrugged. "Well, he'll never trust us again, and from his perspective, he's right. A pity. He doesn't understand that in war, sacrifices have to be made. Well, let's all of us get the hell out of here." He pushed a button, and from the floor of the garage a small but efficient craft emerged. "With no craft of their own, the X-Men are earthbound. They cannot follow. Come, my Brotherhood. There shall be another day for a reckoning with the X-Men."

"No!" Wanda cried. "I'm tired of this, Magneto--the carnage, the violence, all of it! I won't have it any more, I tell you! I won't have it!"

"Pietro," Magneto said, gesturing wearily at Quicksilver. The latter took Wanda by the arm, and guided her onto the craft.

"Come, my sister," he said carefully, giving Magneto an unfriendly look. "We shall discuss this later." He looked even more significantly at Magneto. "And there _shall_ be discussions, I assure you, Magneto."

Magneto gestured wearily. "Fine. No matter. Let us depart." He glared at the battleground. "Well, I have learned one thing--Xavier was not here--at least, in any active sense. He was mentally following his students, but not directing them. They seem to have graduated." He laughed. "Well, we shall see the next time. Indeed we shall."

* * *

"Hey!" Warren cried out. "They're taking a powder!" And indeed, there was a smashing sound from what was left of the garage, and a small, sleek craft climbed into the sky. Cyclops looked carefully at it, seemed tempted to take a shot at it with his power beam, but finally shrugged.

"The hell with it," he said. "If I take them out here, they might crash right into a supermarket or row of houses. There'll be another day. We've won this one." He paused and looked thoughtful. "And also--there's the Scarlet Witch, and Quicksilver. I can't bring myself to believe that they're as evil as the others."

"But what about the Blob?" Jean asked, as that individual slowly rose to his feet. "Is our fight with him over?"

The Beast looked at him. "There's an irony for you--he saved our lives, while his pals were ready to sacrifice him without a second thought."

" 'Pals'?" the Blob said, in a deep, weary voice. "The Blob has no 'pals'. I should have realized that right from the start." He sighed, and looked around. "Don't worry, X-Men. My fight with you is over. The hell with it. I've been abandoned, betrayed by everybody. There's nothing for me."

"No," said Jean. "No, I don't believe that. Please--Blob--or whatever your real name is. Join us. Let us give you the proper training to become an X-Man. And ask Maria here," she said, as she turned to Shift. " _She_ found a home with us. There's no reason why you can't, too."

The Blob smiled--a wistful smile this time, not a cruel one. "Sorry, toots," he said. "And I _am_ sorry, because I know you mean it. I kinda owe you an apology, 'cause I've misjudged you. But no. The carny is my natural home, where I belong. This super-doing stuff..." He shook his head. "I just ain't go it in my blood, the way you guys do." He turned to Maria. "The way you _definitely_ do, babe. You got what it takes, I'll tell you that." He put out his hand. "I ain't got no hard feelings, 'Shift'? That what they call you?"

Maria smiled, and took the hand. "That's the name. And I have no hard feelings, either--if you really are out of the game. I hope I never have to go up against _you_ again."

He shrugged. "Hey--that diamond form-- You'd do OK, kiddo. Against anyone, even me." He turned away from them. "Now, I'm off--back to the carny. And that's where I'm stayin' until I die." And slowly, he walked away from them as the dusk fell into the deep well of night.

"Incredible as it seems," Hank said softly, "I actually find myself feeling sorry for that behemoth."

"Well," Scott said, "you might save a smidgen of sympathy for us, Beast. We have to get back home, and your 'group leader' is broke." The others laughed at this, then got down to ideas as to how they _would_ get home. Especially Maria.

* * *

Charles Xavier's eyes were closed. He was exhausted, but content. They had done well, and especially, Maria had done well. When the battle reached its climactic phase, she had had the advantage of the Blob. He had been on the defensive, and she even had been able to pull him off his feet in her diamond form--an extraordinary achievement!

He sighed, and sent Cyclops a mental message for them to meet at a certain point. He would dispatch a limousine, and a driver he knew he could trust. While the future was always uncertain, he felt that the Blob was no immediate threat to the team. And that was enough, for this day. He had only scanned the battle mentally through their minds, not directing it as he usually did. In that sense, this battle was their baptism of fire as an independent team--and they had performed admirably.

Again--especially Maria. Her strength was indeed going to be as unique an asset as he had hoped. This team was going to be much more formidable with her. And that helped his dream in every way.

There was only one question on his mind, in fact, as he waited for his X-Men to return: What on Earth was a picture of J Edgar Hoover doing on Hank's foot?

* * *

It was nearly midnight before the X-Men got home, and Charles was waiting for them. He assembled them in his study, and was pleased to see that Maria's presence, her body language, was subtly different. It was that of one who no longer felt like an outsider. And from the subtle messages in the posture and glances of the others, they felt the same. Excellent.

"My X-Men, you have done well tonight," he said. "I do not believe that the Blob will be a problem for us any longer--at least, not for the foreseeable future. And Magneto has failed yet again, in his attempts on our lives. It is just possible that a few more defeats of this nature, and even he will begin to see reality and realize that his plans are too grandiose and ambitious. I firmly believe that in this dispute, time is on our side."

The others smiled, and Charles realized that his students shared this belief. It was self-evident to them. They were young, and optimistic. He felt a rush of pride, and a wish that they could remain like this forever, on the cusp of adulthood, but never actually getting there, with the corruption and disillusionment that inevitably brought with it. He sighed to himself. Might as well ask for the Moon.

"Maria," he said, "this has been your baptism of fire, and I feel that you acquitted yourself well. You held the Blob at bay while your fellow X-Men were involved with the Brotherhood, and at the end you actually had him on the defensive. Had the battle continued, I feel certain you would have decisively defeated him, before your Shift form reverted back to normal."

She nodded. "Thank you, sir. I hope so. I felt so green out there--! But by the end, I think I was getting the hang of it."

Warren smiled broadly. "Oh, I'd agree with that. I think the Blob did, too, after your little below-the-belt special. Now _that's_ a unique way of dealing with enemies." The others all laughed, and Charles shrugged.

"It's hardly an unknown combat tactic, Warren. I was trained in it myself, in Basic...and while it's painful, it _does_ have the advantage of stopping most fights quickly and--er--cleanly. Unfortunately, the Blob seemed immune to this particular stratagem."

There was another short laugh, and Maria shrugged. "Well, at least it's all experience. I'll do better next time, sir."

"Of that I have no doubt. Now, my X-Men, get to bed and get some well-deserved rest. All morning activities are cancelled for tomorrow. Sleep in. We'll have a briefing on the mission at one o'clock in Classroom Three. That is all."


	12. Flight

Chapter Twelve

* * *

A certain figure in a dark room waited for another guest. All the machines were turned off, and indeed, the figure had been ignoring them for awhile now. Yes, they were important, and yes, they were needed for the figure's mission. But the figure was not essentially a scientist, despite the training it had received all throughout its life. Enough to function efficiently, when these high-tech toys were needed. But for the figure, other things were paramount.

The darkness was deliberate today. It did not want its approaching guest to know exactly who it was, until the figure was ready to reveal that information. It looked round. _Darkness._ How much of an expert it had become in this! The figure wondered if perhaps it knew darkness better than anyone in history did. And if that was where its true importance lay--if the darkness would be the first thing mentioned in its obituary. Then it thought about that for a moment, and laughed uproariously.

 _There._ The figure's guest was punctual. A streak coming through the sky. This individual did not require a craft to come visit, as von Doom had. The doorbell rang, and the figure pushed a button to admit its guest. It remained in the shadows of the room.

A figure strode in, its identity obvious. Eric Magnus Lehnsherr, known to all the world as Magneto. He looked around, and saw his host in the shadows of the room.

"Are you going to reveal yourself?" he asked. After a moment of silence, the figure shrugged and answered.

"Not yet, Eric. Soon enough."

Magneto was silent for some moments. Then he said quietly: "You are trying to impress me. You send me your...invitation...with just enough information in it to intrigue me--to ensure that I would come as called. Now you speak, knowing that your voice in itself will make me think, and you call me by my real name. Few know this. I am supposed to be impressed. I am _not_ impressed. So far, this is on the level of a conjurer's trick. I am beginning to think that I am wasting my time here. If I feel certain that I am, that will go badly for you. I do not tolerate wastes of my time."

The figure smiled to itself. Magnus was so like von Doom in so many ways--but at heart, they were different. Magnus had a conscience, buried, but it was there. Von Doom, the figure felt, essentially did not, though he was capable of magnanimity. But that was a different thing from conscience...

Oh, well. If Magnus did not want his time wasted, then the figure was willing to oblige him. "You have just finished another fruitless battle with the X-Men," it said. "You used the Blob as a cat's-paw. Needless to say, this effort failed. The X-Men survived, and the Blob was alienated from you as a possible ally, probably for good. Meanwhile, the tensions within your Brotherhood fester, and are near the boiling point. Wanda Maximoff in particular has reached the point of open rebellion--even if this means going against the will of her brother, Pietro. She does not realize this consciously yet, but soon she will. _You,_ of course, have no clue as to this, and when it comes, it shall be a shocking surprise to you. You feel that you can overawe your followers through the sheer force of your will. Well, you cannot in the case of Pietro, which you have come reluctantly to realize. But I tell you, Eric, Wanda is far more formidable than her brother. _She_ is your match. She is more than your match. And you shall not realize this, until it is too late--for you."

Magneto listened quietly to this, his hand on his chin. When the figure was finished, he did not answer for some time. "I am beginning to be impressed," he finally said. "Just a little. You know things that no one should know." He paused. "Unless you are a telepath, or in league with one who is. Charles comes to mind. Are you in league with Charles Xavier?"

"No," the figure said. "And I have gained none of my knowledge through psychic means."

"I find this hard to believe," Magneto said. The figure could tell what an effort of will he was making, not losing his temper and lashing out. The figure was making something of a calculated risk, in that Magneto's temper could never be relied upon. But it felt that the risk was worth taking.

"Nonetheless, Eric, what I say is the strict truth. Perhaps if you think it through...?" the figure asked, and it could see Magneto doing just that--thinking. He looked into space, staring into the distance, and the figure was surprised to see him take off his helmet. He stared at the figure in the shadows, and slowly--almost imperceptibly--a startled expression came over his face.

"By God...are you trying to tell me--?" he asked the figure. There was no response, and Magneto finally shook his head. "No. It isn't possible. This _is_ a trick. I find that easier to believe than--"

"Than this, Eric?" the figure said, and suddenly stepped out of the shadows into the dim, but adequate, light of the room. It walked right up to Magneto, and looked him in the eyes. "You know who I am." This was a statement, not a question.

Magneto looked at the figure very carefully, taking in every aspect of its face, its expression, its clothing, its posture. There was a slightly quizzical look on his face, to be supplanted by a slowly dawning expression of amazement, as the truth became apparent to him. He finally took a step back, and the figure could hear him take a gasping breath.

"Lies," he finally said. "This is all lies. This _is_ a trick." A sudden look of rage, almost a snarl, came to his face. "I do not know who you really are, or what this game is, but if you think--"

The figure put up its hand, and for all his anger, Eric Magnus Lehnsherr stopped dead in mid-tirade. "Eric," the figure said, "you disappoint me. You know better. You know perfectly well that I am who I appear to be. You _know._ Now it is you who are wasting _my_ time."

A look came over Magneto's face that the figure had never seen on it--a look of stupefaction, even awe. "How?" he asked quietly, almost as a supplicant. "How is this possible?"

"It's a long story, Eric, as you might imagine," the figure said. "But suffice it to say--I _am_ who I appear to be. That's what matters. Suppose that--just for the sake of argument. What does that imply?"

He was silent for a long time. Finally, he said simply: "I shall not give up. I shall not change my plans. Not because of you. Whatever the reason for your presence here, whatever happens."

"And I should not expect you to."

A trace of his former anger appeared again. "Then just why _have_ you brought me here, anyway? If you know that I shall not change my plans, what's your point in all of this?"

The figure shrugged. "To make you think. To begin a process that cannot be reversed. To expand your horizons."

"To make me pull my punches, you mean? I shall not do that!"

"Perhaps not. But Eric--look at me. _Really_ look at me."

Magneto did, and as he looked, his puzzlement increased. "You--you are not who I thought you were. Not really." He paused, looked confused. "I do not entirely understand--but in some way, you do not _belong."_

"No, Eric, I do not. And what does _that_ tell you?"

More silence. "It tells me," he finally said slowly, and with obvious reluctance, "that there is more to everything than I thought there was. That I have only been a piece on a chessboard, and not the chessplayer. That there are things that have to happen, whether I will them or no."

The figure nodded. "That is a good summary of the situation, Eric." It sighed, and looked sad for a moment. "I could tell you more, Eric--more about the forces that are beginning to converge. Slowly, oh-so-slowly...but definitively. But I do not believe that revealing more to you would be of any help. Now, you must do as you will."

He put his helmet back on his head. "Which I shall," he said. "My goals and motives have not changed, you may rest assured. Indeed--if anything, they have been strengthened. If a storm is coming, then I intend to be the one steering the ship." He paused. "Some...details...admittedly might need reexamining. I shall consider this." He looked at the figure. "Is there anything more that either of us have to say to each other, then?"

The figure shook its head. "Not for now, Eric."

"Then I bid you a good evening." And he walked to the front door, and was gone. The figure did not bother to go to the window and track his flight. It sighed, and shut its eyes wearily. This had been an ordeal, more of one that it had anticipated. Certainly more of one than the meeting with von Doom had been. But Eric was so central to so many things--

No matter. The seed had been planted, which was all that mattered. What grew now was up to the fates.

* * *

Hank McCoy put some records on his automatic stereo, while he picked out a book. He needed some time to himself, away from studying and training as an X-Man. He read on his own, almost anything if it had printing on it. Making time with the hectic schedule he had wasn't always easy, but he made it a priority. The Professor approved of this, and he would often talk with Hank about books they had both read. Hank realized, with some amusement, that the Professor's reading made his look positively amateurish. Well, he was young yet--let him catch up, and we'd see where we were...

He sighed to himself, as the music of Thelonius Monk came over the speakers. No doubt, in ten years the gap between the Professor and himself would only have increased. The Professor could just ingest books like swallowing candies, and Hank wondered sometimes if his telepathy had something to do with it--whether the Professor could just absorb a book in one gulp, in some manner. He certainly had near 100% comprehension. Hank tried to decide if that was cheating in any way, and realized immediately that of course it was not.

_Doo-doo-de-bah...doo-doo-de-bah...bah-bah-bah-dee-dee-doo-dee-lah-dee-dah..._

The theme from "Blue Monk" came over his speakers, and for a moment Hank just listened totally to the music. Monk was so pure a jazz artist--like Ellington. Whatever the "center" of jazz was, Monk was it. Then Hank looked at his book. _Islandia,_ by George Tappan Wright. A Utopia story, from early in the century, about a remote Indian Ocean island and its contacts with the "modern" world. Hank was about a third through it, and already he felt that this was a unique book of its kind, and he wondered why it had never been more famous. It was long, but so was _The Lord of the Rings,_ which had become a cult classic.

He sighed, as "Straight, No Chaser" came over the speakers. _Dammit._ What _was_ it about Maria, anyway? He put the book down. Back to Subject A, McCoy. She was not "pretty". There was no way in hell Maria Gianelli could be called pretty. Her face didn't even quite come into focus. But it was _hers._ And there was such animation there...and the eyes...

He shut his own, at the thought of those hazel eyes. When she looked at you, there was no guile there. Just sincerity. Mischief, humor, yes. But no guile. She had the sincerity and idealism of youth. "Said Hank McCoy, middle-aged X-Man", he said out loud. He laughed at himself. Poor Scott...he finally understood what the poor slob was going through. But Jean loved him as much as he loved her. Hank winced. There was no evidence that Maria felt anything at all for him except a wry amusement, seeing him as a sort of intellectual clown.

The Monk record ended, and the next one plunked down on top of it. One of his favorites: Bill Evans' _Conversations With Myself._ Evans had played one track, then another while listening to the first on headphones, and finally a _third_ track while listening to the first two. The third one got in the way sometimes, but not often, and Hank regarded it as a mostly successful experiment.

Just this morning, Maria and he had had a fascinating talk about Anselm, and the Ontological Argument for the existence of God. This was a subject which Hank, as a man of science, was wary of. It was too easy to sneak in wish fulfillment and subjective hopes. And there was the whole apples -and-oranges aspect-the two sides too often talked past each other. Still, Hank felt a certain humility, considering that a great many brilliant people--even scientists-- _had_ been believers, so he kept an open mind. Maria had tried to explain the Ontological Argument, and Hank was bemused. Essentially, it sounded like saying that because the idea--almost a Platonic Ideal--of a perfect being existed, in some way, then, it had to exist in the real world, that it was a logical fallacy for it _not_   to exist. Hank thought this was just a shade too easy, and there had to be a catch. Maria explained what the catch was, but then claimed that the argument actually made more sense than it first seemed, and Hank found himself drowning in the logic of the Medieval Churchmen. After awhile he gave up and just listened to Maria's voice, that husky voice that sounded a little like Lauren Bacall if she were having her vocal chords worked over with sandpaper. Her voice was no "prettier" than her looks. But when Hank listened to it, he didn't want to hear anything else in the world. Even Jean's voice, voluptuous as it was, sounded--what?--maybe too good to be true, after hearing Maria's.

Ah--the "Love Theme From Spartacus". The best track on the record, and one that Hank had virtually memorized. He knew every note, every interplay between the three pianos, and still it surprised him every time he heard it. He listened for awhile, knowing he really should be getting back to Islandia...

He woke up, blinking his eyes. Oh, my stars and garters! He had actually dozed off! Inconceivable. But it had happened. Well, he thought, maybe the weight of responsibility of being a guru had gotten to him. That ridiculous scene in the Coffee-a-Go-Go... He sighed. It had taken hours to get those damned pictures off his feet, and despite the sweet(?) offers of help from Jean and Maria, he had soldiered on, doing it himself. Hank had a definite suspicion, bordering on certainty, that the aroma in the club that evening had helped him shed certain inhibitions. He blushed to himself, thinking what a fool he must have sounded like, pontificating about all sorts of things while the visage of J Edgar Hoover had glowered from the bottom of his foot. He had actually gone into combat with him there! And they all--especially Maria--had seen him doing so...

Stan Kenton plunked down on the stereo, and Hank got back to Islandia for awhile. But pretty soon, he realized he was singing along with one of the songs. He stopped dead. The album was Kenton's _West Side Story._ And the song he was singing to was "Maria". He looked around, face red. Cripes--had anyone heard him singing? He actually looked out his door, peered around. No, thank God, he didn't think anyone had heard. He walked to the stereo, prepared to take the record off. But no. On reflection, that might draw attention to it, if anyone noticed him doing it.

He sat down in his chair again, _Islandia_ forgotten. What a hell it was, being able to look at himself critically being a typical "teenager"--and, in fact, being a typical teenager nonetheless. _How long, O Lord, how long?_

* * *

Warren was soaring above the Hudson Valley, high enough to have a sense of the Earth's curvature as he looked East and West. He was beginning to feel his Flight Rapture, the sense of being a part of nature, almost as if his personal identity ceased to exist. He saw some hawks far below, and soared towards them, laughing as they squawked and scattered at his approach. Birds were never quite sure what to make of him--he was so large, larger than any other birds they encountered, but he had the scent and appearance, at the same time, of a human, and they did not sense in him any of the danger they would had he been a predator. So, for the most part, they would scout him out, and, having decided he was no threat, go about their business. Sometimes, he would join them in their flight, and they would permit him to do so.

In this Rapture state, he could fly far away from Westchester County, sometimes as much as hundreds of miles before he came to and realized what he was doing. He knew this was dangerous--what if the team needed him, and he was up in the Adirondacks? But so far he had been lucky, and the Professor had cautioned him a few times, but not severely. He seemed to understand that this was something Warren needed to do, that it was just part of the price that came with possessing the greatest of all mutant abilities--the gift of flight.

He left his hawk friends and soared upwards again. He secretly wished that he could spot an eagle someday. He knew that they were on the verge of extinction, and that the odds of finding one here in the East were small. But he kept his eyes open all the same, and wished for a world where they were again abundant, and making eyries in the mountains. The sun was high in the sky, and he briefly thought of Icarus, who flew too close to the sun and had his wings melt, falling to Earth and his doom. Warren laughed out loud, and his laughter boomed in his ears like the great thunderclaps of the Catskills that he knew so well. Higher! Higher! He flew upwards, and knew that nothing could melt _his_ wings. They were a part of nature, as much as the sun itself, and his laughter was a challenge to that ball of light in the sky to do its worst, to see what it could do against _him._ Warren looked around. He must be a good five miles high now, and by looking far off into the distance to the East, he could--yes, definitely--make out a glint of blue on the horizon that marked the Atlantic Ocean.

Some of his exultation left him, and he sighed to himself. He started to go down again. Sometimes, after Flight Rapture, he could get a sense of depression, as he realized that he couldn't live forever in the sky, that he was "human" as well, and had responsibilities and a life on the ground. Well, it wasn't going to hit him now, he thought very definitively. Think of good things, positive things...

He shut his eyes briefly, and the image of Jean Grey came to him. He smiled to himself. There was something "positive," all right. Maybe a little too positive, he thought wryly. If there was any danger of Warren Worthington III flying too high and getting burned, _there_ was the reason. Her beauty got into his thoughts, his dreams, to the point where it sometimes affected all other aspects of his life. Opening his eyes, he saw below him the city of Poughkeepsie, and a Hudson River excursion boat puffing its way towards Albany. He briefly considered divebombing the boat--he had done so before--but decided against it. That would take him too low, too close to the ground. And he wanted to remain in the sky.

All right. Time for a serious internal debate, up here in the sky, the place where he was incapable of lying to himself. Was he in love with Jean? Of course, he loved her. All the X-Men did in their way, even Maria. Maybe especially her. But was he "in love" with her, he asked himself as he flew in a lazy arc back towards the Catskills? Were his feelings erotic, or merely Platonic to an exceptional degree? How often, he asked, had he imagined himself _making love_ to Jean? Well, pretty often, he had to concede. But there were differences in making love. There was the simple masturbation fantasy of imagining yourself with Miss November. There was the sharp impression on your senses you felt when meeting someone for the first time who really lit your lights up, and you realized you were in lust and wanted to know them better. There was the feeling of "being in love", which he realized he wasn't entirely sure about. Yes, marriage and kids and a life together. Even for a mutant with wings, there was that desire--someday. Was Jean the one he imagined it with?

He knew one thing--there wasn't a trace of what used to be called "dishonorable intentions" regarding his feelings for Jean. There were girls he had known whom he wouldn't think twice of having a wham-bam-thank-you-ma'am relationship with. But not Jean. The thought made him shiver. Not only because their relationship as X-Men precluded it. Not only because the others would kill him. Not only because of what the Professor would say. No, for Warren it would be because of what _he'd_ say to himself, every time he looked in the mirror. No, Jeannie would be a permanent relationship, or nothing.

And there was the rub, wasn't it, Worthington? Because while he could imagine himself making love to Jeannie, when he looked into the future, he couldn't see the whole thing--marriage, kids, a life--crystallize. Partly that was because of the dangers of their lives as X-Men. And partly because there was something about Jean herself that made that whole scenario seem unlikely. He couldn't put his finger on what this was, but somehow, in some way, Jean seemed destined for different things than domestic bliss. He shook his head, wishing this odd, inchoate feeling made more sense to him, but it didn't, and yet that feeling came over him very strongly sometimes when he looked at Jean. There was something that seemed just out of the reach of his vision, but he caught phantom glimpses of it now and again, and it saddened him, because Jean was meant to love and be loved, and he was afraid this something--whatever it was--might make that love impossible for her.

This was no good. Get back down to Earth, Warren my boy, and he laughed at the incongruity of that thought right then. When you came right down to it, his feelings for Jeannie, while far from entirely Platonic, might have an element of chivalrousness in them. He realized that he idealized her, and that that was unfair to her--and even to him. It wasn't the basis for a healthy relationship. No, Jean needed someone whom she could have a normal, healthy life with--that is, if that shadow regarding her future that Warren sensed permitted it. She needed someone sensible, dedicated, not-too-romantic but still crazy about her. In fact, she needed Scott Summers.

Warren made a dive bomb for the mountains, then pulled up and executed numerous circle figures in the air. _Dammit._ The fact was, he and Jean were too similar in some ways. Both of them were figures, spirits, of the air. Jean didn't entirely realize this yet herself, but it was obvious to Warren. And that made Scott--who was a solid figure of the earth if anybody was--the obvious choice for her. They just _complemented_ each other so well. They gave each other what both lacked themselves. And for God's sake--Warren shouted it to the sky and the winds-- "for God's sake, they love each other."

There, he said to himself as he levelled off again to the North, the words finally were out of his mouth. He felt resentment, sure. Why should she love Scott and not him? But he also knew that all the arguments he had just consoled himself with were true. And the fact itself remained. Jean did not love him. She loved Scott. And it was a pretty bad case. He knew enough about feminine psychology to realize _that._ And as for Scott--

Warren laughed out loud. Scotty my boy, you have it bad. It was only a matter of time before he realized just how bad. And when the day came that he did--watch out!

* * *

"Jean? Might I have a word with you, please?"

Jean was in the gym, doing some calisthenics. She paused and grabbed a towel, wiping her face. "Certainly, Cyclops," she answered, and indeed, Scott was in uniform. Oh, that was right--he'd been having a Danger Room session. He seemed even grimmer than usual. She wondered what this was about...

He walked a couple of steps into the room, and looked at her. "Jean--something happened during the fight with the Blob. I haven't mentioned it to the Professor, because I wanted to discuss it with you first. Do you perhaps recall what it was?"

She frowned. "Something you haven't talked about to the Professor? I'm not sure what you mean, Scott."

He shook his head, and she could tell that he was vexed, and a bit unsure of his ground. A sinking feeling came over her. This had something to do with _her_ performance in the fight, and she was thinking desperately--had she made a mistake--?

"Jean," he said, his voice sounding a bit severe, "after the fight, in the Blob's presence, at one point you addressed Shift as 'Maria'."

Jean froze. Her thoughts raced frantically back. Had she--? "Oh, Scott, I couldn't have been that stupid."

"I heard you distinctly, Jean."

"Oh, my God!" she said, eyes shut tight in sheer mortification. "Oh, Scott--I could have endangered the entire team. I _did_   endanger the entire team. I'm going to inform the Professor at once."

"That might be best, Jean," Scott said. "I had thought of not bothering him with something that after all did no harm--especially since, as Maria never leaves the Mansion, she has no public identity to endanger. But while Magneto knows who she is, the Blob, as far as I know, does not. But he might put the pieces together some day, in a manner we might not appreciate." He paused. "It _was_ careless of you, Jean."

She nodded, her posture rigid, her voice ice. "I am aware of that, Cyclops. I shall inform the Professor immediately." She pushed past him, just as he was opening his mouth, and he stood there, as deflated as any balloon that's been popped. He slunk away in the opposite direction she had gone.

A half-an-hour later, Jean was in her room, having a good cry. She felt equal measures of embarrassment, humiliation, and all the bitterness that can only inflict itself on a seventeen-year old girl who feels an intense bout of unrequited love. The Professor had been understanding--too understanding, Jean thought. She would have preferred it if he had blown his stack, as she deserved. He had even praised her, for coming immediately to him! That just made her flush all the more. How on Earth could she ever have deluded herself--for a single instant--that Scott cared for her. He was so cold, so distant, so severe with her when he told her...

Finally, she grabbed a Kleenex and wiped her eyes. God knew what she looked like right now--a horror, she would bet. Well, she knew one thing--that was _one_ mistake she would never make again. At least no one else in the team would know about it. She stood up, a figure of steel. That's what she would have to be from now on--hard, as hard in her way as Maria. She would be the perfect soldier, the perfect X-Man. She would show Scott Summers.

* * *

Maria was out by the pool. She was wearing shorts and a tee-shirt, not daring to go to the ordeal of having Jean attempt to purchase a "bathing suit" for her. She had taken a dip wearing the clothes she had on now, and would continue to do so as the mood took her. For some reason, the swimming pool intrigued her more than any of the other conveniences that the Mansion offered, and that she had been missing these past four years. She connected water to rain and exposure to the elements. Dipping a finger in the pool, she felt a strong sense of _reality._ Water was now a servant, a friend, and she could use it to enhance her life. It was an odd experience, to see things which you had dealt with every day of your life as if they were brand new. Well, that was her, with practically every aspect of life at the School. There was life as she had lived it these past four years, and there was life as she lived it here. She hoped she would never take experiences like this--just lazing by a pool, and going in or not as the whim took her--for granted.

She stared up into the sky. Warren had taken off earlier, and she had watched as he disappeared slowly, becoming just a tiny dot, and then even that disappearing. She sighed, feeling envious. He had the sky, the air--and she was such a creature of the earth, earthy. A pity she couldn't fly in her Shift forms...

And then, Maria Gianelli froze. She couldn't fly? How did she know that? Had she ever tried? Even once? She thought of the past four years, the freak show, her mother's attempt on her life, her running away, the Torches and Pitchforks... She had made all sorts of experiments with Shift forms. She could do a lot. But she had never attempted to fly. The thought that she could had literally never occurred to her. Why on Earth not? She could "become" gas, water, trees, elements, even a diamond, for goodness' sake...but never a bird. Or any being of the air. Had this just been so alien to her "earthy" nature that it seemed impossible on an unconscious level?

Well, who knew. She walked onto the grounds, away from the pool. Her clothes were treated with unstable molecules, so what the hell. She walked further from the house, into a woodsy area. She didn't want the others to see this, if it failed. There--a small glade of evergreens. She entered a clearing in the middle, and shut her eyes. She thought of--what? An eagle? They were large, she was large. If she could become a bird, a thing of the sky, then it would be an eagle. She _felt_ like an eagle. She put out her arms--those bulky horrors, that weighed more than most people's legs. That had such strength, and such ungainliness. But they weren't ungainly at all. They were _wings._ Her bones were hollow. She had the aspect of an eagle. She _was_ an eagle. All she had to do was soar, and the wings would carry her to the skies to join with Warren, to fly the skies with him. ( _For a few minutes!,_ she told herself frantically. _Remember that! Just for a few minutes, if this crazy stunt_ _does_ _work!_   But she found herself every second going past the point of prudence and caution.)

She thought of eagles. Of the great days of their existence in the United States, of the American eagle. Of how it would dominate the skies, of how all other birds--even hawks, even falcons--would fear them. The ultimate predator, with no one to prey on _them_ \--except, of course, Man. And she was more than a match for _them._ She was a match for anything right now, she realized, as she soared into the air.

_Oh my God!_

She looked out about her. She was flying! Did she--? Yes! She had wings. _She had wings!_   She hurled herself up into the air at a dazzling speed, not knowing, not caring about anything, if she was being observed, how long this could last, any of it. She sensed that she had the _look_ of an eagle in her Shift form. She was invincible, nothing could touch or harm her. There had never been a Shifting like this, indeed she almost forgot who she was, what she was, in the sheer exhilaration of the moment.

She finally paused, and looked about her. To the North and West, she saw mountains--the Catskills. Far below, like a tiny blue ribbon, was the Hudson River. She looked around, desperate to see, experience, everything while she could. Way over there--a dot, getting a little bigger every second. Pretty big for a bird. Could it be--?

It was. Well--she'd show _him._

* * *

Warren was slowly making his way home. It had been quite a few hours of flight, even for him, and he felt as if he knew himself better, had a handle on things. _Jeannie--I love you. I always will. But sometimes, love means having to let go._

He smiled wistfully to himself, then noticed a figure in the distance getting nearer by the second. He heard himself gasp. My God! This was the biggest bird he had ever seen! Could this be an eagle...?

They got closer and closer, and every second Warren's excitement grew. It had to be! There was no other bird this conceivably could be! By God--it was a _big_ sumbitch eagle...

The eagle finally got close enough for him to see clearly, and Warren's eyes popped out of his head. The "eagle" was man-sized, with a wingspan even greater than his. It was dark in color, with a crest of long black feathers that almost seemed like human hair. The eyes--they seemed _human,_ with a hazel color. And the "eagle" was wearing--

No. This was crazy. The bird was dressed in a tee shirt and shorts. Warren knew then that he was hallucinating, was having a Flight Rapture case of the bends. It didn't totally surprise him when the "eagle" addressed him in English.

"Hey, Blondie," the "eagle" said. "How's tricks?"

Warren blinked, once, twice. The hallucination was still there. That voice--those eyes--

_My God._

"Maria?" he asked, almost shyly.

She flew around him in a quick orbit. "You bet, Warren! And my God, I can see why you love it so! I've never felt like this in my life!"

"But Maria--how--"

"Does it matter?" she asked, voice exultant. "For God's sake, Warren, let's fly!" And with that, all weariness left Warren Worthington, shed like a discarded coat, and he and Maria Gianelli took off over the Hudson, dipping low over the river, heading West over the Palisades, the two of them reacting like a single entity, moving in and out of each other's orbits, never getting in the way of each other, synchronized like the most intricate ballet ever devised. They added more and more movements to the "ballet", neither of them thinking, just acting with pure instinct, Warren with the greater experience but Maria having the enthusiasm of the first morning of the Earth when God created the birds and beasts. She moved as if she had never existed before this moment, and Warren felt something similar himself. For a brief while, he had a partner, someone to share this most unique of all experiences, and the Flight Rapture returned, in full greater force than he could ever remember.

Finally, he heard Maria cry out: "Dammit! Warren--I've been up here too long. I'm going to Shift back!" And indeed, he saw the eagle form start to disappear, and the natural form of Maria Gianelli return.

"No problem, babe. I've got you!" And he took her wrists and glided with her, both of them still too stunned to think.

"I'm too heavy, Warren!" she finally said. "You won't be able to hold me."

"Heavy?" he said, laughing. "Maria--you feel as light as a feather." She looked at him and laughed, and slowly they came down to earth, making for the Mansion. Maria felt a letdown, now that the experience was over. It was, after all, only another Shift form, and she couldn't do this more than a few minutes a week. Indeed, she'd be very surprised if the Professor didn't permanently ground her to prevent it ever happening again. It would be no more than she deserved.

They set down near the swimming pool, and to their surprise the others were all there--Hank, Bobby, Scott, Jean, even the Professor. Maria looked at them. "How did you know what I was doing, sir?" she asked him, and he smiled.

"My dear--the thoughts you were projecting couldn't have been more clear if you had been an atom bomb exploding. Naturally, I had to call the others and watch as best we could." And at that, the rest of the X-Men started to applaud, and Maria felt a rush of embarrassment and pleasure.

"I had no idea I could do that, Professor," she said. He took her hand.

"Maria-- _any_ addition to your abilities makes the X-Men stronger. This will be very handy for a possible emergency situation. And, at least for a few minutes a week, you can be free of the confines of the Mansion and the grounds. That makes me very happy for you."

"Thank you, sir," she said. She turned to Warren. "I--I never imagined it could be like that. That _anything_ could be like that."

He leaned over and kissed her cheek. "Kiddo--if I had told you, would you have believed?"

"No," she said simply. "No, Warren, I would not have believed." And for the rest of that day, Maria remained flying--at least, in her thoughts.

* * *

That evening, Jean asked Maria into her room. Jean had seemed a bit odd to Maria that day, and she wondered if there was something she could do to help.

"Maria," Jean said, "I'm happier for you than I can say. You keep surprising us."

"I'm surprising myself," she answered. "I don't know why I _never_ considered before, that I could do this."

"You're still learning," Jean said. "Still discovering yourself. That must be an incredible feeling--to not know what you can do. To feel that everything is new."

"It is," Maria said, sensing that Jean wanted to say something, but content to let her lead the way into it.

Jean nodded. "Maria--" She paused, then just let it all out. "Who are we? What are we?"

"We're X-Men, Jean," Maria said, a bit surprised by the question. "We're mutants. What else did you have in mind?"

"Oh, Maria..." And suddenly, Jean was sobbing in Maria's arms, and Maria was stroking her hair and hugging her hard.

"OK, Jean," she finally said. "What is it? Something to do with Scott?"

Jean froze. "Scott?" she asked in a small voice. "What has he got to do with anything?"

" 'What has he got to do with anything'?" Maria said, her voice amused but compassionate. "Oh, Jean, you goose. It's as obvious as the nose on your face. What _doesn't_ involve Scott, as far as _you're_ concerned?"

Jean moved away from Maria, and sat down on her bed. "So everyone knows," she said dully, with that tone of voice that only teen-age angst and embarrassment can bring.

"Oh, Jean, of course we know. I knew the instant I saw Scott. How on Earth did you think we _didn't_ know?"

Jean looked as if she wanted to sink into her bed, through the floor, right down to the center of the earth. "And Scott? Does _he_ know? Does he get his kicks, knowing about it? Does he laugh about my feelings?"

Maria wanted to cry, Jean's voice was so helpless. "Oh, Jean, you ninny! He's even more miserable than you are, if that's humanly-or mutantly--possible! For God's sake, girl, he's just as much in love with you, as you are with him! More so! You think we don't all see _that?_ "

Jean looked at Maria, a wild hope and fear there at the same time. "Oh, Maria--! If I could believe that! But today--he was so cold with me..."

"For God's sake, Jean! Just why do you think that is? If he didn't act that way, he'd fall to pieces, he's got it so bad! He tries so hard, to be the perfect soldier, the man whom nothing can touch. But one look from you, and he just dies." She walked to Jean, sat down next to her on the bed. "Girlfriend, take my word for it. I've been trying to work up the nerve to bring the subject up myself. I was going to give you two an ultimatum--cut out the crap, and get your act together. Believe me, I'd have done it."

Jean looked at Maria, and smiled nervously. "Maria--I'm feeling so many emotions right now. Joy, fear, embarrassment, doubt-- You _really_ think he feels the way I do?"

"Think? Red--I _know._ "

And with this, Jean Grey started sobbing helplessly into Maria's arms. Maria let her do this for awhile, then asked: "OK, Jean. Now--what are you going to do about it?"

" 'Do'?" Jean said nervously. "I--I don't know."

"That's OK," Maria said softly. "Really, Red, that's OK. You're a bundle of nerves right now. You deserve some time. I'm certainly not going to put any pressure on you. But the clock is ticking, girl."

Jean giggled. "Yes, I guess it is." She wiped away some tears, and smiled at Maria. "And what about _you,_ Maria Gianelli?" she asked.

"What about me?" Maria asked, but she knew what Jean was going to say.

"You. And Hank. You say Scott and I are transparent? Well--you two are positively crystalline in your clarity. He has it bad for you, Maria. And I know you like him."

Maria got to her feet. She had trusted this girl with so much--with the deepest secret she had, on their very first meeting. No. Not her _deepest_ secret. That she still concealed. Could she reveal it now, Maria thought? Jean had bared her soul to her. And if Maria didn't reciprocate, she realized that something would always be hampering their friendship, their intimacy--a relationship that Maria prized more than anything else in her life. Yes. She trusted Jean. She had to do this, and she had to do it now.

"Jean..." she said slowly.

"Yes, Maria?" Jean asked, voice bright and joyous. _Oh. God. This might destroy her mood. Well, it can't be helped. There's no turning back._

"There's something I have to tell you, Jean."

Jean suddenly looked concerned, hearing something in the other girl's voice. "Maria? What is it?"

Maria sighed. "You remember that first day we met. In the woods."

"Of course," Jean said. "I'm not likely to forget _that._ "

"No, of course not," Maria said. "And I shared with you a--secret."

Jean was suddenly very wary. "Yes, Maria, of course."

Maria shut her eyes, and nodded. Very well. Let's do this... She walked to the center of Jean's bedroom, turned her back on her friend, and slowly, deliberately, took off her clothes. She Shifted and turned to face Jean in her "human" guise, the six-foot Mediterranean beauty Jean had seen the first time they met.

"Look at me, Jean. Look at me!" Jean did so, taking in the voluptuous beauty of Maria Gianelli's "human" figure.

"Jean--do I have all my glands in working order? My female parts?" She pointed to her breasts, her vulva, her vagina.

Jean nodded numbly, but a look of horror was beginning to appear on her face. "Yes, Maria," she said quietly.

"Then look now!" And Maria Shifted back to her normal form. The breasts were lumpy silicon mounds, with the faint illusion of nipples, but nothing that could actually pass for them. The vulva and vagina were vestigial remnants on a grainy silicon body.

"I am a neuter, Jean. In my natural form, I have no sexual organs. I have a small hole which I can urinate with. That's _it._ I have never been able to have sexual feelings of any kind--except in the few minutes a week I can attain my 'human' form. That is my curse, and my deepest secret." She smiled. "On the other hand, it also means I don't have to worry about That Time Of Month, so I guess it all works out evenly in the end--" But Maria had to stop, because she was breaking down in tears, and Jean's arms were around her and she was crying, too, and that was the way it went for several minutes.

"Oh, Maria," Jean finally was able to say. "That first day--your nakedness--I didn't make the connection to your 'normal' self. I should have realized--"

"I know, Jean. I know." Finally, the two girls were able to look each other in the eyes without more tears.

"Oh, God, Maria--what are we going to _do_?"

"Nothing," Maria said. "There's nothing anyone _can_ do, Jean. I am what I am. What more is there to say?"

"There has to be _something._ If the Professor--"

" _NO!_ "

"Oh, of course not. Oh, I'm an idiot, Maria. I just don't know what to do! And I want to help so much..."

Maria hugged her again. "I know Red, I know. You're an angel." She sighed. "But you see what it means? No Hank. Or Warren or Bobby, for that matter. Or anyone else. I've tried my best _not_ to get too friendly with Hank, but it's tough, because I am in love with him. Or at least I would be," she said, her voice miserable even to herself, "if I were capable of it."

Jean was silent for a long time. "This has been a helluva day," she finally said, and Maria laughed.

"You might say so," she said. "Jean--just remember about Scott. About you. There's nothing you can do for me. There's plenty you can do for _you._ "

Jean nodded miserably. "I know-- Maria, my emotions are so screwed up right now! I'm happy--I'm embarrassed--I'm horrified-"

"There's a lot of that going around," Maria said. "Mixed emotions, that is. Hell, girl, I _flew_ today!" And both girls started laughing.

Maria got to her feet. "Jean--I'm beat. I'm off to bed. God bless you. I love you."

Jean hugged and kissed Maria. "I love you, Maria. And--well, please don't give up hope. _Please._ "

Maria smiled. "I won't if you won't."

"You've got yourself a deal."


	13. September

Chapter Thirteen

* * *

The next few weeks passed uneventfully for the X-Men. Maria studied, trained, practiced with the team, and felt more like an X-Man every day. Neither she nor Jean brought up anything they discussed that evening, but Maria thought she saw a change in Jean. She acted calmer, more relaxed, and seemed to keep to herself. The others noticed this as well. Jean wasn't acting distant or unfriendly in any way, but she did seem to be in her own world, and Maria knew the others were wondering why.

For her part, Maria just concentrated on her work. The friendships she had made with her fellow X-Men she treasured, and her daily routine was more than satisfying. She and Warren flew together some more, and she learned just how long she could stay aloft so he didn't have to lug her home again. Those moments were magical for both of them, and she felt she was beginning to understand Warren in a way that none of the others did.

Professor Xavier, meanwhile, was busy and satisfied. Maria was fitting in well with the team, and her flying Shift form made her necessary encampment in the Mansion less onerous. He, too, was puzzled about Jean, but something made him keep his hands off the situation. He sensed that she was having an intense period of growth, taking a long step to full maturity, and he was content to let that process occur without his interference. He had absolute trust in her judgment.

Scott Summers also noticed the change in Jean, but couldn't account for it in any way. She didn't seem to fret over their awkward encounter in the gym, a fact for which he was deeply grateful. Their personal interactions were perfunctory, but not hostile or unpleasant in any way. His heart beat like it would burst out of his rib cage every time he saw her, but he had no idea what to do about _that._ For the moment, the status quo was acceptable to him--but then, there was nothing he could do about it, if it wasn't. He knew perfectly well he had a streak of fatalism, but there were times when he asked himself wryly if he wasn't taking this a bit far these days.

Bobby Drake felt that he had grown up some that summer. Already, the callow kid who had acted like such a jerk about Maria seemed part of a different century, and he was deeply grateful to his fellow X-Men for the kick in the pants they had given him. "Thanks, I needed that..." --that wasn't just an old-movie cliche, it really worked. He realized, watching her in class and in training, that Maria was something special, and wondered again just who would be the one to fall in love with her. His money was on Hank, despite her flights of fancy with Warren. Bobby was closer to Hank than any of the others, and he could see the signs when Hank and Maria were together. If for no other reason, they were the "smart" ones, and while Bobby's eyes glazed over at the very mention of the names Jung, or Camus, or Yeats, their eyes lit up, and the next thing you knew it was an hour later and they had both learned something from the other one. He kind of envied them...

Warren Worthington, for the rest of his life, never remembered being more content than he was in that summer of 1964. Both the world and himself seemed to be in a kind of equilibrium. All the storms that the country and the X-Men were to endure later in the decade were no bigger then than the size of a man's hand. And watching Maria grow, almost by the day, into something remarkable was a joy. He almost felt at times like Henry Higgins in _Pygmalion,_ and that Maria was his Eliza Doolittle. And not just in the air, in those rare moments they flew together. No--it was more that they shared a sense of the goodness, the joy, of life that their duets in the air were only one aspect of. Maria was blossoming, after all those years of isolation and what she called the Torches and Pitchforks. It wasn't that Warren was falling in love with Maria. His feelings for her were purely Platonic, and that wasn't because of her appearance, either--he knew that. It was more that, had he tried to make it romantic, it would somehow all be spoiled. In the meantime, Jean seemed to be in some private zone of her own. Unlike the others, Warren didn't wonder why. He sensed Jean marshalling her forces regarding Scott. He felt that she was _stalking_ the poor guy. This made him smile sometimes. Little did Scott know the dreadful fate that awaited him...

Hank McCoy seemed much the same to the others, but was a bundle of tormented nerves to himself. He had made friends with Maria, and he knew she liked him. But there was something, some reserve, he felt emanating from her, as solid as a blanket, and he couldn't quite understand what it was. Was it just shyness, a result of her long isolation? Hank didn't know. He considered asking the Professor about it--he had, after all, already told him about his feelings for Maria. But something made him hesitate. Even if it was only pride, the reluctance was _there._ In his more manic moments, he actually considered talking to Jean about the matter. Maybe, as a girl, she'd understand about Maria. Then he laughed, and told himself to sleep it off. And as far as that went, Jean had been acting a bit funny herself lately.

And Jean Grey. She was in a state she couldn't have described to herself. It consisted of equal parts despair, embarrassment, wariness, cool, and joy. In short, she was a teenager desperately in love, now essentially convinced that that love _was_ requited, and yet--still uncertain. Hence the despair. And the thought that everyone knew about her--hence the embarrassment. And spending every second she could watching Scott without appearing to, to see what he really thought--hence the wariness. And trying not to let it become _too_ important, to let it get in the way of her duties as an X-Man--hence the cool. And feeling above all utterly ecstatic, just thinking of Scott's arms about her--hence the joy. Add these states together--and add to it sadness and an astonishing empathy regarding Maria's plight--and you had someone who couldn't possibly have told you whether she was coming or going. But one thing she did know was that she was slowly arriving at definite decisions.

* * *

Gunthar Unuscione walked slowly back to his apartment. He had been out having a round with the boys, and making some side money with his usual gimmick. He laughed to himself. Imagine some Joe, with one or two too many inside him already, being offered a bet that he couldn't pour a beer over another guy's head and get him wet. The usual reaction was suspicion--what was the gag, Mac? And Gunthar would shrug and say if he didn't want to make the bet, others would. It didn't sound like you could lose, could it? And usually, the Joe _would_ make the bet, and watch open-mouthed as the beer just hit the force-field and ran down over Gunthar and make a little puddle on the floor. Some guys got sore, and very occasionally one would try to welch, and Gunthar had to take care of them. But usually, the Joes turned out to be pretty good Joes at that, and they'd laugh, and Gunthar would buy them another drink. Why not? Gunthar liked things to be on the square. He wanted to be on good terms with everybody. Even...

He winced to himself. He almost thought, "even my own daughter". And that was tough, because Carm wasn't always the easiest girl in the world to be on good terms with. Oh well--he hoped she was in a good mood tonight.

As soon as he entered the apartment, he knew his hopes were in vain. She was lying on the sofa, dressed in jeans and a light green shirt, picking things up and letting them go with _her_   force-field. She looked bored, and definitely hostile.

"Hi, Carm" he said, a bit warily. At seventeen, Carmella Unuscione was a medium-sized, pretty brunette, as well as a bundle of nerves that Gunthar had never been able to understand. He knew that she--and he--were that odd thing the press called "mutants". But that fact had never really impressed him. It gave him the tools he used to make good money on the wrestling circuit. And if he could find some way to increase the cash, he wouldn't hesitate to do so. But Carmella-- He uneasily realized that she was looking for a cause. She was an idealist. And Gunthar distrusted idealism. It never got you anywhere. There was no profit in it. It could only bring you trouble.

"Daddy," she said, staring at him. Gunthar winced inside. There was nothing like the scrutiny of a daughter to make a guy feel like he was six inches high. And he knew she disliked his barhopping. "Out wasting your time again?"

"You might say so," he said, trying to make a light joke, and he winced again as he recalled that Carmella had not the slightest vestige of a sense of humor. "Well, yeah, Carm. I was." She stared and nodded, as if her darkest suspicions had been confirmed. Gunthar didn't know if he had been a good father or not. His wife had deserted him long ago. Carmella had been embittered by that, but finally made sense of it by saying it was just something that "humans" did. Gunthar, remembering the details of his marriage, knew that he had had something to do with the girl's mother leaving. But when he occasionally tried to hint this to her as gently as he could, she didn't want to hear it. The years had passed, and Carmella had picked up scraps of formal education here and there. They had spent time in carnivals and in fleabag hotels, generally moving around. As a wrestler, Gunthar knew he always had something to fall back on, and the money was good. For the most part, people didn't suspect the truth about him. It was a clever gimmick, people thought when they saw him do his routine. Much like the rest of professional wrestling. That at least he was grateful for. Who needed the aggravation?

"Daddy--when do you stop being just another grifter? You-- _we_ \--can be so much more."

Gunthar shut his eyes. Here we went again around the mulberry bush. "Carm--I'm not a crusader. You know that. Don't keep asking me to be something I don't want to be. I like the wrasslin' ring. It fits my style."

"Daddy!" she said severely. "For heaven's sake, you're thirty-nine. You can't do this for the rest of your life, and even those dark good looks of yours won't last forever. And what am _I_   supposed to do, may I ask? Get in the ring with you?"

Gunthar tried to keep a smooth expression on his face. In point of fact, having Carmella join him in the act had occurred to him more than once. He felt very glad indeed that he had never said so to her. "Carm, you've got to go your own way when the time comes. I don't think that's yet. Then you can do whatever you want. Join Magneto, if it suits you." He smiled. "Or even the X-Men."

She glared at her father. "The X-Men! Those race traitors! Never in a million years!"

Gunthar shrugged. "Suit yourself, Carm. When you're old enough, join Magneto if you want to. I wouldn't give very good odds on him winning in the end, but still--if that's what you want to do..."

She stared at him, and Gunthar felt a cold chill come over him. He knew he wasn't going to like what Carmella was about to say. "No, Daddy," she said. "Oh, I'll be glad to join Magneto in time. But first things first. _You're_ going to join him."

" _Me?_ " he said, as if that short syllable were in some foreign language. "Carm--you've popped your cork." He laughed uncertainly. "OK, a joke's a joke, but..."

But Carmella was just looking at him, her expression dripping with scorn. "I should have known it. Daddy--you're hopeless. The only thing worse than being a human-lover is being neutral. You don't seem to care about mutants one way or another."

He shut his eyes, and wished he could fly away and leave this discussion behind him. But he opened his eyes with a sigh. Cripes, let's get this over with--

"Carm--don't you think that I should have, you know, some conviction or something before taking a step like that? And whether or not I should feel that way, the fact is that I don't."

"Of course not," Carmella said, her voice as cold as ice. "You're too busy being a two-bit grifter. The wrestling ring and the carny are the confines of _your_ world. I should have known." And she got up and walked to her room, her posture itself a rebuke.

Gunthar sighed and sat down. He put his head in his hands, and realized then that he was going to do exactly what she said. He didn't really want to join Magneto, but he'd at least try to find some of Magneto's people, talk to them, see what the lay of the land was. Maybe that would satisfy Carmella.

He got up and knocked on her door. "Carm."

There was a silence. Then: "Yes?" Her voice wasn't friendly, but it wasn't hostile, either.

"Look, kid, you win. I'll see if I can contact Magneto. I'll talk to them. I'll make an effort. Is that OK?"

The door opened, and she looked him right in the eyes. "Daddy--is that a promise?"

He smiled--a bit sickly, he thought, but a smile all the same. "Yeah, kid, that's a promise."

And Carmella did something almost unique for her--she smiled broadly, and hugged her father. "Oh, Daddy, I'm _so_ happy!" And Gunthar Unuscione smiled like an idiot, and wondered for a moment how much of the really dumb stuff in history was done because men didn't want to let their women down--especially their daughters.

* * *

Bobby and Hank had the day off, so they decided to go down into the city. They were split as to their plans--Bobby wanted to go to Shea Stadium and see the Mets. Hank thought that if they wanted to see baseball, they should wait for the Yankees to return from the road so they could see the genuine article, and an honest-to-goodness pennant race, which, he assured his friend, they wouldn't be able to with the woeful Mets. Hank's preference was for a movie, and he was trying to get Bobby to decide between "My Fair Lady" and "Dr Strangelove". Bobby had reservations about both these films, and they were walking north on Eighth Avenue seeking a compromise when they heard a commotion.

"Hank--it's a fire!" Bobby said, and indeed, an old building ahead of them was smoking.

"Perchance we can be of some aid," Hank said, as they hurried up to the scene. There were already firemen present, and a crowd had gathered, and there were reporters and TV crews. They heard snippets of talk--"just started", "everybody safe", "kids are OK", when suddenly there was a shriek.

"Oh my God--Jimmy! Somebody help him!" The two looked up, and saw at the top of the building a wall of flame suddenly appear beneath a window, and a small boy crying in mortal terror.

The firemen looked helpless. "Hank--they'll never reach him in time!" Bobby was about to go into ice-form and try to get up through the flames, but Hank's shoes were already off and he was preparing to take action.

"Forget it, my frosty friend," he said calmly. "You won't get there in time, and be able to make it past these flames in your ice form." And with that Hank was already off, leaping over a firetruck and grabbing the brick walls of the building with his feet. The crowd was silent for a second as he climbed up the building, feet clinging to the bricks with no more effort than if he had been walking up a flight of stairs.

Bobby heard muttering--"what's that?"--"Hey--is that Spider-Man?" "No--look at those feet. It's a _mutie_ \--" "One of those X-Men, isn't it? Cripes! Is he gonna kill that kid?" "There are all sorts of rumors. That they're just waiting to take over..." "Hey--look! Isn't _he_ with that guy? Is he one, too?" The latter was directed at Bobby, as he realized that people were taking an unhealthy interest in him. Meanwhile, Hank got through the flames, grabbed the boy, and got him to safety with relative ease. The TV crews got all of this, while the crowd kept getting larger and larger. But no more friendlier. Bobby started to get very nervous. Should he get into ice-form, so as to protect himself--or a least, his identity? How long before the TV cameras were aimed at _him?_ And what if he had to defend himself? He was getting more and more worried by the second, and was relieved when Hank finally returned.

But the crowd was definitely hostile now, and crowding in on the two of them. The TV cameras were getting closer now, too, and Bobby whispered to Hank, "buddy, let's get the hell out of here." Hank nodded grimly, and both boys ran from the scene down 29th Street, hats over their faces, to the accompaniment of jeers and shouts from the crowd, and some rocks and fruit tossed in their general direction. Reporter's questions were also tossed at them as they ran, which of course they ignored. Finally they were free of the scene, and were able to slow down and continue their day in the city. But neither of them seemed interested anymore. Hank in particular, Bobby noticed, was quiet and fuming. He was worried. He had never seen Hank in this state before. He hoped his best friend was OK.

* * *

Even though it was September now, Dallas, Texas remained hot. To the young man who called himself Forge, it seemed as if this was the city's natural state. There were vague rumors of something called "cool weather", but he regarded these rumors as something from another world, that might apply elsewhere, but never here. Possibly in January of February he might remember otherwise, he thought as he wiped his face with a handkerchief, but he doubted it. A good thing his long line of Indian forebears had toughened him up. White men, of course, suffered through the heat of a Texas summer. And fall. But not _him,_ he thought complacently as he grabbed another handkerchief from an inside pocket and started wiping his face and brow yet again. The fact that his home and laboratory complex in Eagle Plaza was centrally air-conditioned had nothing to do with any softness on his part. It was just for the sake of his delicate experiments. And his mental equilibrium, as he often worked around the clock. But Forge certainly did _not_ suffer from the heat personally, he thought, as wrung the sweat from the handkerchief and approached Eagle Plaza.

He looked around him. Eagle Plaza consisted mostly of twelve and fifteen story buildings, constructed in the 1920s and 30s. It looked efficient, utilitarian, and a bit humdrum. But Forge was a young man of vision. He had the dream of someday building huge, thousand-foot glass spires that reached up to the clouds. An appropriate eyrie for him, and a vital part of Texas in the Space Age. One of those spires would be his own, his sanctuary where he would be totally at home, as Reed Richards was in the Baxter Building. But his plans would make Richards look like a piker.

He glanced west--over to where Dealey Plaza lay. As it happened, Forge had been in the Plaza the past November 22, and had been an eyewitness to the assassination of President Kennedy. And he had seen some interesting things. But when he mentioned this fact to his friend Gordon Shanklin, the head of the Dallas FBI office, he had gotten a sour look and a stern warning to keep his mouth shut. Forge had been puzzled by this--didn't they want the truth, to get at the facts? Shanklin had laughed in his face.

"Chief--the last thing anyone wants are the facts of this unimaginable can of worms. Keep your mouth shut, and just maybe you'll keep breathing." This warning had been so extraordinary that Forge had done as he had been told, and kept his mouth shut. As well as, of course, quietly investigate the assassination on his own. And what he had found...

He shook his head. Well, _that_   had been a mistake. He was determined never to experience the emotion of "curiosity" again. Unless, of course, it profited him in some way. The events of Dealey Plaza would never profit him, so he had forgotten them. He entered the central building of Eagle Plaza, and took the elevator to the sixteenth floor. He had the top three floors of the building as his laboratories, office, and living space. The sixteenth was the highest, where the offices and living space were. He glanced at his watch. Almost one o'clock. Just in time for his mysterious visitor.

He felt the air conditioning as he walked into his office area. He took a deep breath, and briefly luxuriated in the cool air. Not that he was getting soft. He didn't _need_   this. But he supposed his visitor would want it, and he wouldn't be discourteous...

He entered his office, nodding to his secretary. He didn't spend a good deal of time in the office. He preferred his lab, and could lose himself there for days. But sometimes he had to waste his time dealing with business matters, entertaining Pentagon brass or corporate suits, and as a result he tried to keep the office from looking like a pigsty. It was small--no more than twenty feet by twenty feet, which _was_ small by Texas standards. The desk was relatively clear, and he straightened some papers just for the sake of doing something. The phone rang, his secretary announced his visitor, and he told her to let him in. Forge sat down behind his desk, and watched as the door opened, and a man entered the room. He shut the door, and Forge motioned for him to sit down in the chair in front of the desk, which he did.

Forge studied him. He was tall and a bit beefy, maybe forty-five, maybe fifty. Brown hair graying at the temples. A nondescript face that Forge would have found impossible to describe in any detail. When he spoke, it was with a touch of Southern accent--Forge thought perhaps Louisiana.

"It's good of you to see me, Mr Forge," the man said as he sat down. Forge shrugged. He had not risen or offered to shake hands; neither did he offer his guest any refreshment. He sensed that this visitor didn't expect any such amenities.

"No problem at all, Mr--" Forge made a production out of looking at the letter he had been sent the day before. "--Handy."

Handy nodded. "Still, your prompt response has been much appreciated."

Forge looked wryly at him. "When I'm offered ten million dollars for a job, Mr Handy, that tends to speed up the red tape."

Handy nodded again. "Quite so, Mr Forge, quite so. And let me reassure you, before anything else, that that offer was--is--quite genuine. The party whom I represent is absolutely willing to hire you for that sum, provided you can get him what he requires." He took out his wallet, and withdrew a check. "This is a blank check. I'm authorized to write out the sum of five million dollars this very day, if you accept the commission. The other five million will come upon completion."

Forge shut his eyes, and allowed himself to dream. For ten million, his vision of Eagle Plaza could begin to take shape as a reality. He could imagine it, the construction of the tower of glass that he would make the most famous laboratory complex on earth, subject to his will, his law, a law unto himself, almost a God...

Then his eyes opened, and he was back in the reality of a hot September day in 1964. "Ten million dollars is quite a bit of money, Mr Handy. What exactly would I be prepared to do to earn such a stupendous sum?"

Handy looked very serious, and Forge realized that this man was a salesman of long standing. His curiosity concerning the man's client was very great in that moment, but he knew better than to ask."Mr Forge, have you ever heard of the X-Men?"

Forge was suddenly very cautious. As far as he knew, no one realized that he was a mutant. And he wasn't going to slip up and reveal it to anyone, either. Questions about the X-Men... "Of course."

"Indeed," Handy said, with the smile and intimate manner that showed how grateful he was to be dealing with a knowledgeable man of the world such as himself. Forge grew more cautious than ever--this Handy was as good a bullshit-peddler as he had ever encountered. And Forge's experience in this area was wide and varied. "Of course. And have you ever considered the anomaly of mutants, in general?"

Forge's eyes almost closed. Was this man fencing with him? Was he trying to tell him he knew about his identity as a mutant? Forge decided the answer to this question was "no". No, Mr Handy was interested in the X-Men, but not in Forge--at least, not in that way.

"I've considered it, of course," Forge said carefully. "I take it your client has an interest in this matter? Something I can be of help to him with?"

Handy smiled appreciatively. "I must say, Mr Forge, it's a pleasure to deal with a man who gets to the point as you do. Indeed. My client is interested in mutant powers. And in their--utilization."

Ah. Forge was beginning to get a glimmer. "I see. Let me perhaps save some time, Mr Handy. Does your client want me to come up with a means to copy mutant powers? Possibly for his own personal benefit?"

Handy practically beamed. "You're every bit as quick on the uptake as I had heard, Mr Forge. Every bit as quick! Well, that's precisely it, in a nutshell." Handy leaned forward across the desk. "Mr Forge--could you find a way to neutralize a mutant's powers? Erase them? And then return them, if necessary? And could you--well, 'mutantize' a normal human _with_   mutant powers? Not necessarily permanently, but at least for some designated period of time?"

Forge whistled. "That's a pretty big order, Mr Handy."

"It is," Handy said, looking sad for a moment at the sheer size of the responsibility he was asking Forge to shoulder. "But that's why we're coming to _you._ We know perfectly well that if anyone could do it, you could."

"Umm," Forge said, not impressed. "Me--or Reed Richards, or Henry Pym, or Anthony Stark, or--"

Handy put his hand up. "Yes, yes, Mr Forge. Of course, those esteemed names. But they're so well-known, and so in the public eye, that we weren't certain that the discretion we seek would be absolutely safeguarded."

Forge grunted again. Translated, it meant that they felt Forge was more amenable to doing the job and keeping his mouth shut than men like Richards or Pym. And indeed, they were absolutely correct in thinking so. For ten million, Forge was more than ready to overlook certain--issues. He would draw the line at murder, if he _knew_ that that was intended. But he wasn't one to ask too many questions, either.

"But let me be explicit," Mr Handy said, now eager and conspiratorial. "We need a mechanism wherein a mutant can be stripped of his or her power. Not permanently--just for awhile. _That_ is the paramount issue, Mr Forge--depowering a mutant. And getting an energy template of the mutant recorded and saved, so that it might be possible to recreate the power in someone else."

"Umm hmm," Forge said, but his thoughts were racing. Torture wouldn't have made him tell Handy that he already had had thoughts in this direction, and indeed had done some preliminary work on the matter. For ten million--well, that bought a lot of incentive. This would be an immense gain to scientific knowledge of mutants, and a source of immense potential power for himself. But first things first.

"Mr Handy, I believe we just might be able to do business along these lines," he said. "But I must caution you--we have to walk before we can run. _Any_ work in this direction for the foreseeable future will be limited. We might be able to depower a mutant for a time--but it will _only_ be for a time. Permanent depowering is many years away, if at all. And while the powers could be 'copied', in a sense, and stored, allowing that 'recording' to power an ordinary human, say, would be even more temporary than depowering a mutant could be. I might be able to recreate a mutant power state in a normal human for a little while--a few minutes. Maybe an hour, if I'm lucky. But for a long time to come--many years--that's the best I could do. I just don't want you--or your client--to have unrealistic expectations."

Handy looked more and more pleased as this speech went on. "Mr Forge, I can see that I've come to the right man. What you suggest is exactly what my client has been hoping for. He would ask for no more." Handy picked up the blank check. "I'm completely satisfied that I can make this check out--for the five million--this instant."

Forge nodded. "Very good. I'll get right on it." A thought occurred to him. "Oh--by the way. Does your client have any particular mutant he wants this--operation--to work on?"

Handy beamed even more. "Better and better, Mr Forge! Yes. While my client was most definite-- _most_ definite--that while he wanted to be able to depower any mutant if necessary, he did indeed have a priority target in mind."

"And that is--?" Forge asked gently.

Handy's smile grew even broader than before. "The X-Man known as Marvel Girl."

Forge grunted, genuinely surprised. He would have thought it was Cyclops, or the Angel, or even Magneto. But Marvel Girl...? Well, it wasn't his money. "All right, then, Mr Handy. For ten million dollars--five million now, and five million upon completion--I shall invent a means of depowering the mutant known as Marvel Girl, and recording her powers. Possibly I shall be able to recreate them in a human host, possibly not. In any event, the depowering will necessarily be temporary, and will also be able to be used on other mutants as well." He paused, and frowned. "Frankly, Mr Handy, I doubt that at this stage of the game, I'll be able to depower more than two mutants at any given point in time. That will have to suffice."

Handy nodded. "That is satisfactory, Mr Forge. More than satisfactory." He wrote out the check and handed it to him. "Might I ask how long you expect this process to take?"

Forge smiled. "I believe I shall be able to bring you the results you need within six weeks, Mr Handy."

Handy was astonished, and let his guard down in showing it. "Six weeks--!" he cried out. "You're kidding!" Then he regained control, and smiled again. "Well, sir, that's most satisfactory. Most satisfactory indeed. That is much more optimistic than I could have dreamed. My client will be _very_   pleased."

Forge shrugged. "I aim to please, Mr Handy." But his mind was already racing. He saw Handy out, and fifteen minutes later he was in his lab, prepared for a marathon session. His juices were racing. Here was a challenge, indeed! He felt himself completely worthy of it.


	14. Good Guys, Bad Guys

Chapter Fourteen

* * *

Charles Xavier had been watching the TV with the others when the film of the rescue was shown. Hank's saving of the boy's life was initially greeted by the students with enthusiasm--especially Maria. But then they saw the footage of the two boys running from the scene, a hostile mob on their heels, and Scott turned the TV off. They looked at each other, no one knowing what to say. Finally, Warren, Jean, Maria, and last of all Scott, left the living room, wandering off to God knew where. Sighing to himself, Charles wheeled his chair out to the garden and thought hard. What _was_   the point of his efforts, he thought bitterly to himself? Perhaps Magneto wasn't entirely wrong, if far from right. Maybe the mutants _should_ find some abandoned island somewhere and declare their independence. Mind their own business, defend themselves if anyone attacked them, and let the rest of the world go to hell.

Then the warm, but clear, September air renewed him, and he took a deep breath, and he was better. No one said it would be easy. If he had to be the mutant Sisyphus, constantly pushing the rock upwards, so be it. What was it Camus had said...? "Sisyphus must be regarded as being happy." Charles laughed. Not perhaps his definition of happiness, but still a rewarding challenge. Maybe that _was_ what happiness consisted of--the struggle, not the destination at the end.

Hank and Bobby returned late that afternoon, and Charles immediately saw that he had a crisis on his hands. Hank's anger had been getting greater, not less, and he wanted an immediate meeting with the Professor. Charles agreed, but suggested to Hank that the whole team be present. Hank accepted this suggestion with alacrity.

"Indeed, sir," he said, mouth a tight line. "I believe we all need to be together right now." And so, in a very few minutes the six of them were surrounding Charles' desk in his study--Hank standing in front, and Bobby, Maria, Warren, Scott, and Jean in a circle from Charles' left. Charles nodded at Hank.

"All right, Hank. You have the floor. I assume this has something to do with the incident in New York today?"

Hank smiled grimly. "You assume correctly, Professor. You all saw it on TV?" Nods from the others. "Very well. You saw what I did--risking my own neck--because that smoke and fire was quite dangerous, I assure you--to save a little boy's life. And when I had done that, Bobby and I were nearly lynched for my pains." He turned to Maria. "It was your classic Torches and Pitchforks scenario come to life, Maria." She didn't answer, just nodded unhappily.

"Quite so," Hank said. "Sir--I have never begrudged anything I've done in the cause you've asked us to devote our lives to. It's a rotten hand we've been dealt, in some ways--to have to constantly fight, risk our lives, while still children, so that a future generation of mutants won't have to. But that's the way the world works. No one can choose the times and circumstances they are born in. All they can do is make the best of it. So, I have never begrudged it." He paused. "Until now." And there was a dead silence. Charles nodded sympathetically.

"Go on, son."

"Sir--for the first time, I wonder if Magneto is right. I can understand, I suppose, people panicking--a fire, a boy in danger, and what looks like an inhuman figure coming to the boy's rescue. A scary mutant. I get that. What I do _not_ get is the sheer, fatuous stupidity of the comments I heard. That somehow, in saving a boy's life, I was trying for a 'play for sympathy'. That somehow, in saving a boy's life, I was 'advancing a mutant plot for world domination'. Professor--they might as well have been quoting from the Protocol of the Elders of Zion. And _these_ are the people we're trying to get along with--to create a world in which everyone, human and mutant, can live together in peace? Frankly, sir, that seems at this moment not only impossibly far off in the distance, but not especially desirable."

The silence deepened, and Charles had never heard it reach the depths it did right then. He looked at the other X-Men, and they all had unhappy expressions on their faces. He knew that he had to get a handle on this situation, immediately, or he could have a serious crisis of morale on his hands. And yet, he knew too that he couldn't sweet talk any of them. He must speak the absolute truth.

"Hank--all of you--" He stopped, shrugged his shoulders. "There is no point in disputing anything you've said, Hank. The behavior of that crowd _was_ despicable." He turned to Bobby. "As was the crowd that threatened you, in your own home town on Long Island, of all places--not Dodge City or Tombstone, but Nassau County. And you, Maria," he said, turning to the girl. "You had numerous encounters with your 'Torches and Pitchforks'." She nodded. The others were listening to Charles intently. "My X-Men--I cannot tell you that I am right. When I saw the TV footage earlier today, _I_ had doubts of my own. Yes, even me. To live without doubt is not really to live at all, or to think at all. It is to become a robot, to be so immured in your own ideological armor that you cease to be a rational, autonomous actor in your own life. Humans do that to themselves--look at Hitler; look at Stalin. And for our part, look at Magneto. I knew him many years ago, as I indicated the day I told you about Cerebro. And while the details are a matter for another day, I can tell you that he was _not_   always the man whom you know now. Indeed, he and I were friends, and we worked together. In fact, he himself was a victim of the madman Hitler. But I fear he has learned the lessons of his youth all too well.

"But that is a digression. Hank--I really have no answers for you. You must decide for yourself if you still wish to follow the path I have laid out for you all here. The School is not a prison. Were I to make it so--forbid you to leave--I would indeed be no better than Magneto. But if we abandon the dream because of the ignorance and bigotry we face, where does that leave us? Either we separate and live in the world as best we can, waiting to be picked off by the human bigots or by Magneto, or we become what we most oppose--just Magneto's mirror-image. We must be better than that. Hank, all of you--I feel that we must, to some extent, turn the other cheek, just as we must do everything we can to avoid killing, because the alternative is simply unthinkable."

There was no response for several seconds. Then Jean took Scott's hand, and grasped it. Warren grasped theirs, followed by Maria and Bobby. They turned to Charles, and moved to his desk, and he put his hand over theirs. Hank watched this with no show of emotion.

Finally, he sighed. "Professor--all of you. Please do not think I am unmoved, or wish to make trouble. I am not, do not. Spiritually, my hand is with yours. But I am still angry. I am still confused. Sir--I would like to formally request a leave of absence."

The Professor removed his hand, and the others moved apart. "Granted, Hank, of course. With my blessing. Is there anything I can help you with? Do for you?"

Hank smiled tightly. "No thank you, sir. I can assure you all, it will not be for long. I shall return, and I shall place my hand with all of yours. But I need a little while to get my head clear. Perhaps to do something totally off-the-wall, something I've always had a secret hankering for."

"And what might that be, Mr McCoy?" Maria asked sweetly. "A stint as a Playboy Bunny?" The sheer absurdity of that image broke some of the tension, and they all laughed, even--maybe especially--Hank.

"No, my dear," he said in reply. "Although I would give five years of my life to see _you_ in such a role." Maria and the others laughed again, and she stuck her tongue out at him. "Actually, I've always had an itch to do some wrestling. Professionally, that is."

There was the most profound silence yet, and then the whole team--including Charles Xavier--broke out into a whoop of sheer belly-laughter. It was finally Jean who, after holding her side and mastering herself, asked the inevitable question: "Are you going to be a 'hero' or a 'villain', Hank?"

"Oh, a villain, naturally," he said with a trace of pride. "And I mean to be the most sneering, obnoxious villain it's possible to be."

"Well," Maria said, "you must be taking lessons from Magneto. Maybe _he'd_   be interested in doing a tag-team routine with you."

Hank waved a hand. "He'd insist on top billing. And it's _my_   name that's going to be in lights, I assure you all."

* * *

Gunthar Unuscione was in the gym, working out. In point of fact, with his gimmick he didn't particularly need to be in good shape, but he had a certain pride. Most men his age had at least the beginnings of a pot-belly. Not him. He was a lean fighting machine, and he intended to remain one for as long as he could.

Maxie came in. Gunthar liked Maxie. He was friendly, stuck to his business, and didn't ask too many questions. And he had been _there_ for a long time. Gunthar liked things to be just so, in their place, and wouldn't have enjoyed breaking in someone new. "How's tricks, Maxie?" he asked.

The older man shrugged. "You mean, apart from the crappy world out there?" Gunthar shrugged; for Maxie, the world was always "crappy". Well, he was probably right. Gunthar paid as little attention as he could to news of the world. The only news he read was the sports pages. "Well, here's something interesting." He showed Gunthar a flyer concerning a new wrestler who called himself "The Beast". "Whaddya make of him, Gunthar?"

Gunthar studied the flyer. It was nicely done, he'd give the Beast that--genuinely professional-level stuff. Good quality paper. It made this kid--for that was all he was--seem like a combination of Bruno Sammertino and Killer Kowalski. Gunthar smiled. A nice gimmick, to overrate yourself at the start. It just might get him bouts of a higher caliber than would be usual for a newcomer. And the sooner you started climbing the pole, the sooner you made the Top Ten lists, the sooner you might even get a shot at the "championship". With his own gimmick, Gunthar usually was able to insist on "winning" his bouts. "After all, how can I really lose?" he'd ask, quite reasonably, the officials of the "wrestling" world. And they usually let him have his way. Sometimes, of course, he had to be the Bad Guy, and he'd often "lose" then. But not always. Crowds liked the Bad Guy to win sometimes, and in his heart, Gunthar liked being the Bad Guy. He thought he looked like one, with his sleek dark good looks.

"Whaddya say, Gunthar?" Maxie asked. "Wanna let this kid take a shot at you?"

"Hmm," Gunthar said softly. "Am I the Good Guy or the Bad Guy?"

"Oh, the Good Guy," Maxie said, to Gunthar's slight disappointment. "This Beast, this kid, wants to be the villain. Makes a point of it." He paused. "Gunthar--this kid has a pretty good gimmick of his own. I've heard about it. Not as good as yours, of course," he said quickly. "Of course not. But still, pretty impressive in its way. They want to build him up."

Gunthar's eyes flashed. "The don't expect me to lose, do they?"

"No, no," Maxie said, hand up in supplication. "They want you to win, but this kid makes a real fight of it. And he can, too. You just eke it out against the Bad Guy, but he's so terrific in his own right that the crowd goes nuts and wants more."

Gunthar considered this. "Yeah, OK, Maxie...I think something could be done along those lines. Make it happen, OK?"

"You got it."

* * *

And so it was a week or so later that The Beast went up against the invincible Unus the Untouchable. The Beast came first, prowling a cage and coming to the ring with an entourage and enough fanfare for the Olympic games. Sitting quietly in the sixth row of seats were Scott Summers, Jean Grey, Warren Worthington the Third, and Bobby Drake, here to root Hank on. Scott felt strange to be here in this place--it certainly would not have been his choice of entertainment. But they felt it was important for Hank to see them there. He nodded briefly at them as he passed in his cage.

"Ah, " Scott heard Warren say, "at last he's in his natural habitat." Bobby made a crude rejoinder that didn't in essence disagree with Warren's statement, and Scott sighed to himself. Life brought you to some funny places--

Jean, next to him, was smiling mysteriously. "Penny for your thoughts, Jean?" Scott asked. She surprised him by leaning against his shoulder.

"I'm wondering why Hank invited us to attend," she said, and her voice sounded mysterious, too, in a way Scott couldn't put his finger on, but it alarmed him somehow.

"I guess he just couldn't avoid wanting us to see his total humiliation," he said wryly, and Jean looked at him with eyes wide open.

"Why, Scott Summers! That wasn't exactly a joke, but it was almost one. Are you feeling well?"

Scott smiled. "In this place, Jean, I'm not sure." Meanwhile, the introductions were going on. Hank, as the Beast--the "Bad Guy"--got a round of boos. Then his opponent entered the ring--Unus the Untouchable. He got some tepid applause, and from the comments Scott heard, he gathered that Unus wasn't the most popular of "Good Guys". Apparently, he won his bouts too easily because of some terrific gimmick.

He saw Hank stride around the ring briefly, while Unus merely stood quietly in his corner, waiting for the bell. This was struck, and Hank immediately moved towards Unus in the center of the ring. He began to hop around, not doing anything very difficult for him. Scott heard Bobby mutter to Warren, "geez--he looks like the Toad out there," and Scott smiled to himself as he saw the resemblance. The crowd was already lustily booing Hank as he strode and jumped up and down, while Unus simply stood in the center of the ring, waiting for Hank to do something.

This finally happened. Hank took a leap at Unus with both his huge feet out in front--Scott wondered vaguely what the crowd would say if J Edgar Hoover remained painted on the foot--and slammed into Unus. Or such was the plan.

The reality was very different. Hank's charge got him within about a foot of Unus, and then he suddenly _stopped._ It was as if he hit a brick wall. He bounced back a few inches, then fell unceremoniously to the ground. Scott, Jean, Bobby, Warren, were thunderstruck. This was no ordinary wrestling opponent. Something was going on here--

The crowd began to cheer for Unus, as he moved on Hank and pushed him to the edge of the ring. Hank got his bearings back, and suddenly performed an incredible series of leaps and jumps, all around the ring, almost faster than the eye could see, and the crowd shouted in glee. Then he made yet another feet-first jump at Unus--and again, he fell back without coming close to the older man. Once more, Hank got to his feet, and once more he danced and leaped around the ring. The crowd was whooping and hollering at the spectacle, though not many of them were rooting for the Beast. Scott suddenly wondered if anyone in the crowd had been at the fire scene a couple of weeks before.

Another leap, and now Unus moved first, pushing his way towards Hank. This time, Hank didn't even come close to Unus--his momentum in the leap was stopped almost before it began, and he was knocked clean out of the ring. He leaned back against the first row of seats, blinking and trying to get his bearings. The crowd was now booing him unmercifully, calling him a bum and yelling at him to get up. He finally did so, and the match limped on to a "KO", when Hank was pushed back against Unus once more, and the older man suddenly leaped down on Hank, and Hank was counted out. Unus accepted some unenthusiastic applause, and Hank was showered with boos and debris as he left the ring. It was definitely, Scott thought, similar to his inglorious exit from the scene of the fire.

"Scott," Jean asked him, leaning over and speaking into his ear, "did you see that? What Unus did to Hank?"

He nodded. "There's something unnatural about that, Jean. That's no normal wrestling gimmick."

"No," Jean said. "Scott--Unus is on of us. A _mutant._ " And Scott Summers merely nodded grimly.

* * *

Gunthar was relaxing in the dressing room after the bout. He felt slightly down. The Beast had had a pretty good gimmick, indeed, and Gunthar wondered vaguely what might have happened if the fight had been a real one. He couldn't have lost, of course, but he did wonder just how he could have worn down someone who moved like that, especially considering that he was just a kid, and had at least as much endurance as Gunthar had. Oh well, he finally thought, the hell with it. He had "won" the fight, and that was what mattered. A couple more like this, and he had a good chance of cracking _Wrestling World_ 's Top Ten list. He snorted. If losers like Johnny Valentine and Sailor Thomas could make the list, _he,_ Gunthar Unuscione, sure as hell could. And maybe, a shot at the "title". Stranger things had happened. He knew that the whole business of who would be the "champion" at any given moment was mysterious. And since it was all totally rigged, he probably shouldn't care if he ever won the title or not. But even so, he had to admit he did.

Maxie came over. "Hey, Gunthar," he said. "Nice bout. That kid--he was something, wasn't he?"

Gunthar shrugged. "A good gimmick, Maxie. But mine was better."

"And _that's_ for sure," Maxie said with enthusiasm. Gunthar smiled to himself. He had never told Maxie exactly what his "gimmick" consisted of, and Maxie was tired of asking, though he still did now and again. He looked, in fact, as if he was on the verge of doing so now, when Gunthar noticed a figure in the corridor outside his dressing room. He turned to Maxie.

"Hey--take off for a little, OK? I have some business to attend to."

Maxie squinted at the newcomer, then straightened up and gave Gunthar a strange look. "Yeah, yeah, OK... Hey, Gunthar. You sure you know what you're doing?"

"Hell, no," Gunthar said with a shrug. "This is just some, what do you call it, fact-finding. Blow, Maxie."

"Sure, champ, sure," his trainer said, and left the room hastily. Slowly, almost haughtily, the newcomer entered. He was about Gunthar's age, give or take, and had a lean, saturnine face with a drooping moustache, wearing some kind of silent movie outfit. He looked around the dressing room.

"Quite a nice line of work you have," he said in an English accent. "You must be quite an old hand at it by now."

Gunthar's face didn't change expression. "You do what you gotta sometimes," he said. "I don't suppose you've ever been off the manor house in your whole life, right, pal?"

The newcomer shrugged. "Oh, touche, touche. I'm stung to the quick... I am Mastermind." He said this with quiet authority, as if he expected Gunthar to be impressed. And in fact Gunthar _was_ impressed--a little. "You have come to Magneto's attention."

"Well, that was the general idea."

"No doubt. But Magneto is not entirely happy that you were able to get into communication with him. It is usually _he_ who makes his wishes known, not the other way around." Mastermind frowned slightly. "And, while he doesn't say this outright, he isn't entirely happy, either, that you have been able to slip through his radar for so long. You are very much an older mutant. Older than he is, in fact. He should have been able to discover your whereabouts himself long before this."

"I'm pretty good at covering my tracks," Gunthar said carefully. He wasn't about to let this refugee from _The Phantom of the Opera_ know--or Magneto, either--that he had a daughter who was a mutant, too. Not until Carmella was an adult and could make her own decisions.

Mastermind nodded without enthusiasm. "No doubt, Mr Unuscione, no doubt," he said in a bored tone of voice. "But now--you wish to join Magneto's Brotherhood? I must tell you, he has recently had an unfortunate experience along those lines. He was finally forced to--abrogate--his agreement with the recruit." Mastermind shook his head wearily. "He was not happy about that matter, Mr Unuscione. Not happy at all. What guarantee does he have that something similar won't happen this time?"

Gunthar cursed to himself. This was such a mess--! Getting into Magneto's band meant the very ideological commitment he had always tried to avoid. But Carm wanted it... He sighed to himself. What the hell. He had promised the kid. He'd stick to his promise. "How about a test?" he asked the other man. "To show Magneto that I mean business. There must be something I can do."

Mastermind's drooping moustache drooped even further. "Oh, my...you know, Mr Unuscione, I do believe I detect a certain lack of enthusiasm in your tone of voice. Are we sure that we're committed one-hundred percent to the cause which Magneto espouses?"

"Like _you?_ " Gunthar growled. "You sound like you'd stab him in the back first chance you got, if you had the guts. Which I doubt very much."

Mastermind stood very silent for a second, then chuckled. "Oh, my," he said. "Perhaps I have underestimated you, Mr Unuscione. Perhaps you _will_ fit in with our merry little band. You already have such a keen understanding of our group's...dynamics." And he smiled at Gunthar, who gave him a tight smile back. Finally, Mastermind shrugged.

"Oh well--what is life without uncertainty. Magneto, in fact, _did_ have a little initiation test in mind for you, which he asked me to propose. If you could defeat--perhaps even capture--one of the X-Men. Bring him to Magneto. Our esteemed leader has long been interested in dissecting one of the X-Men, just to see what he might find." There was a pause. "I do not believe he much cares if the dissection is done while the subject is alive or dead. So that might perhaps make things simpler for you."

Gunthar winced inside. The sheer coldness of that little speech chilled him. He wasn't dealing with very nice guys at all. But what the hell, he knew that going in. And what were the X-Men to him, anyway?

"I'll see what I can do."

* * *

"A force-field," Professor Xavier was saying quietly, almost to himself. "That must be the answer, Scott. He generates a force-field around himself. If Hank wasn't even able to dent it, with all his power--"

Hank shook his head. He was back at the mansion, his wrestling career put on hold--for good, Charles thought bemusedly--while the team was dealing with an emergency. This discovery of a new mutant was clearly such. "Professor, I couldn't even bend it. And you know how strong I am." He turned to Maria. "Shift--maybe you could have done something with it. _Maybe._ But this Unus is a tough customer, Professor."

Charles nodded, and he noticed that Maria seemed unsure of something. "Maria?" he asked. "Do you have something to add?"

She finally just shrugged, and nodded. "Yes, sir. The fact is, I know this 'Unus'."

The others perked up at this bit of news. "Indeed, Maria?" Charles asked quietly. "And how is that?"

"You know I spent a few months in the carny, as a freak show?" Maria said, and Charles nodded. "Well, sir--Unus was there, in the carny, at the same time I was. His real name is Gunthar Unuscione. And his gimmick then was the same that it is now--wrestling, and also stuff like having people take pot shots at him with real bullets and seeing them bounce off--that sort of thing."

Warren looked thoughtful. "Geez, Professor, that sounds almost like the Blob."

"You're right, Warren," Charles said. "There are similarities between the two men. Can you tell us anything else about Unus, Maria?"

She looked unhappy, but went on. "Yes, sir. He has a daughter--Carmella. She's a mutant too, though neither of them knew what that meant back in those days. She was only my own age--thirteen--but already, she could create force-fields, too. Better than Gunthar could, really. She could extend them further, capture people in them without having them around her own body--that sort of thing."

Charles was intrigued. "That is very interesting, Maria. Perhaps if this Carmella could be found and persuaded to join the X-Men--"

But Maria was shaking her head. "I'd be very surprised if that happened, sir. Carmella is--" She paused, thinking of the right word. "--Unpredictable, sir. Very temperamental, and frankly a little nasty. And that was when she was only thirteen." Maria smiled ruefully. "I think she'd be a recruit for Magneto, if she joined anyone."

The Professor didn't look nonplussed. "Perhaps, Maria. We can but wait and see. In the meantime, it appears that the father--Unus--is the more immediate problem. Scott. Suggestions as to how we approach this matter."

Cyclops looked determined. "Simple, sir. Get into costume, go down and confront him. Ask him right out if he knows he's a mutant, and what his intentions are."

Charles looked pleased. "Direct and strategically sound, Scott. _Very_ good. I had reached a similar conclusion. Don't wait for him to take the initiative."

"Too late for that, Prof!" Bobby called out. "I've just been watching the TV in the living room. There's breaking news." He looked around him. "What?"

It was Jean who answered. "Mr Drake," she said icily, "we adults have been having a serious discussion concerning an emergency situation, and _you_ have been taking off to avail yourself of the TV?"

"Oh," he said softly. "Well, sir," he said, looking at Charles, "I knew the situation was _so_ serious that I had to check immediately to see if there was any breaking news." And his voice rose in triumph. "And it's a good thing I did, sir, because there is!"

Hank spoke with a note of admiration in his voice. "I do believe, Professor, that our frosty friend has avoided a demerit right now on sheer brass."

Charles smiled. "I agree, Henry. --Bobby. Fine. Now--what _is_ this 'breaking news'?"

Bobby smiled complacently at Jean. "Well, sir, someone just broke into a bank. Some sort of gang. And as they were escaping, they were waylaid by another guy who just grabbed the dough from them. They tried to shoot him, of course, but it appears that the bullets just bounced off. And he just walked away with the money." He looked at Hank, then the others. "He's described as tall, dark haired, wearing a hat, about thirty-five or a bit older."

"Unus," Hank said. "Well, Professor, it seems that our good Mr Unuscione has taken the initiative ahead of us."

"Agreed," Charles said. "All right, everyone--into costume immediately. Get going. Find him. Stop him." He turned to Hank. "Are you with us, son?"

Hank winced slightly. "As a better man than me said, sir: 'Once more unto the breach, dear friends'. For all the good I suspect it'll do us. But yes, Professor, I'm here."

* * *

Gunthar walked through the streets of New York with a couple of bags of stolen cash, wondering just what the hell he had been doing. He seemed to have some half-baked idea that by grabbing the money, he could finance himself as a super-powered criminal. That was just great, except that he didn't really _want_ to be a super-powered criminal. Well, he had been using his instincts, and maybe that hadn't been such a good idea. Cripes. Now every cop in Manhattan was after him. Maybe he should get out of the suit and into the costume he had devised, in case Magneto accepted him? But that would just make him even more visible. Dammit. Maybe he should just throw the damned money away and go home and pretend this day had never happened. But that would mean telling Carmella that he had failed. He winced. He'd rather face the X-Men single-handedly than do _that._

Then he turned the corner, and facing him were the X-Men, staring at him. He shut his eyes. Now the day was officially a catastrophe, as opposed to a mere disaster. Well, what the hell did he do now? He opened his eyes again, and the leader--Cyclops?--was addressing him.

"Unus--you haven't done anything really terrible yet. Just put the money back, and return to the wrestling ring. Forget everything else. Let's end this right here."

Unus frowned. There was something wrong with the X-Men--weren't there supposed to be five of them? But there was someone new--a tall figure, looked like a gal, but she wasn't wearing a mask...looked gray, kinda unformed... Hey--wait a minute--

"Maria?" he asked, hardly able to believe it. "By God, it is. It's been what--four years? You've grown up nicely, girl." He smiled almost shyly. "So you've come up in the world?"

"You might say so, Gunthar," she said carefully, looking at the reporters and cameramen who were almost a block away covering their encounter. Gunthar understood--she didn't want them hearing her real name. Well, they wouldn't get it from him. Screw it. If this girl wanted to be an X-Man, that wasn't any of his concern. But then, the Brotherhood wanted him to get his hands on one of them...

Oh, the hell with it. He wondered briefly what he should do. He had actually prepared a costume. Should he put it on? The X-Men were slowly starting to surround him. The winged one--the Angel--he was right on top of him. Cripes. Slowly, Gunthar started taking off his suit.

"You haven't got a chance, Unus," the Angel said. "There are six of us, and we have you surrounded. Why not just do as Cyclops suggests, and we can all go home?"

Gunthar sighed to himself. This was excellent advice. He didn't want to fight the X-Men--especially if Maria was there. She had been a good, gritty kid, and he had wondered sometimes what had happened to her. But then he saw the look on Carm's face if he just came home without a fight. Hell's bells, he _had_   to try.

He finally stood revealed in a red costume he had made, one that covered him from neck to toe. "Come on, flyboy," he said, trying to get into the spirit of the thing. "Let's see what you've got." The Angel flew around him several times at very fast speed, and Gunthar felt dazed. Geez--this kid was good! Then he got his bearings. He was pretty good, too. Just as the Angel finished his aerial acrobatics, the one known as the Beast came at Gunthar feet first, moving fast and hard. _The Beast?_ Gunthar thought to himself, as he watched the X-Man approaching. There couldn't be _two_ set of feet like that in the world, could there?

The Beast hit his force-field hard, and reacted exactly as his wrestling opponent had--he stopped dead, and got pushed back. Gunthar smiled. Yes, there was no doubt about it--this was the same "Beast" whom he had just met in the ring. Well, well. Small world. He had no sentimental attachments to _this_ clown. If he needed to, he'd call a damned press conference to reveal _his_   identity. Assuming, that is, that he'd walk out of this fight in one piece.

Cyclops came at him with a power beam. It struck harmlessly at his force-field, being diffused all over the area, one little piece of it glancing against Maria. "Sorry, Shift," Cyclops said to her. _Shift?_   Gunthar thought, looking at the girl. Well, that wasn't a bad name for her. He got serious. She looked determined. If she was an X-Man, she'd obey orders. And she was a tough cookie. Gunthar knew she was more powerful than the rest of them put together. He had to concentrate, deal with her first and hope that the others would back off for a moment while he did so.

* * *

Maria looked at her old acquaintance. Gunthar hadn't changed much in four years--hair still jet black, body sleek and muscular. She thought, from his posture and tone of voice, that he somehow wasn't really into all this. Maybe they could use that to their advantage. But then, why had he grabbed the money, anyway?

She blinked slightly, and realized that a horde of press photographers had inched closer to the battle--and that they were taking pictures of _her_. My God--why were they doing that? Then it hit her--this was her first real public appearance with the X-Men, and she was striking-looking, she supposed, in a way. Ugly, but striking. My God--she was making news! She actually laughed out loud. Meanwhile, Bobby was encasing Unus in an ice cage. She turned to Scott. "Cyclops--I might be able to talk some sense into him. Let me try."

Cyclops considered this for a moment, then shook his head. "Sorry, Shift," he said decisively. "We can't take the chance. Maybe if he hadn't grabbed that money. But now--we must regard him as hostile." Maria nodded, and slowly approached the ice cage. But just as she reached it, it smashed open, and Unus kicked away the ice.

"Is _that_ the best you can do?" he said with a sneer, and Maria was pained. He was sounding like he was getting into the spirit of the battle--like he was enjoying being the Bad Guy. Well, take care of him first--talk sense into him later.

"Actually, Unus, no," she said, respecting his real name as he had hers. "I can make things really tough for you."

"Well, girl, go ahead and don't talk about it," he said, but Maria thought she heard a hidden appeal in his voice. She realized than that he was in a deep maze and didn't know how to get out of it. _Carmella._ The name came to her of its own accord. _She_   was behind all this. Maria gingerly stretched out her right arm to where Unus was standing. She probed his force-field, fingers splayed. Then, with a sudden ferocity she made a fist and hit it hard. Unus shook inside his field, but it held.

"Pretty good, girl," Unus said. "You're a lot stronger than I ever would have guessed." He suddenly had a confident look on his face. "I dunno if I can beat you all, kid, especially with you on the team. But _you_ bozos can't beat _me_ , either." He moved forward, towards Maria, and she found herself knocked off her feet. He stood over her. "I'm getting the hang of this--Shift." He looked right into her eyes. "Just as you are."

Meanwhile, the other X-Men had surrounded Unus again. The Beast jumped up over his force-field, making him turn his head towards him. As he did so, Marvel Girl took the smashed ice of Iceman's cage, squeezed it into a ball, and hurled it against Unus' field. At that exact same instant, Cyclops' beam smashed against the field in the same spot as the hurled ice. Maria saw the field quiver and shudder, but it held.

That was all the opportunity she needed. She threw herself against the field and Shifted into her oak shape--one of her "Ent" forms, as she called them. She didn't want to use the diamond form unless she absolutely had to, for fear of injuring Gunthar inadvertently. But this form had perhaps 75% of the strength of the diamond one, and she felt the field quivering as she smashed into it. Unus looked confused--he had never seen her in this form, and she planned on using that to her advantage. He put his hands up, as if to ward off the blow. She threw a hard right with her "oak" fist--and the field held again. Unus recovered, and smiled slightly.

"Not bad, kid," he said. "You've learned a lot, out there on your own. But I've learned a few tricks, too." And he threw himself at her hard, pushing not only her out of the way but also forcing back Cyclops and Marvel Girl, who had been closing in on each flank of their opponent. The Angel came back into the fray, swirling around Unus' head almost faster than the eye could see. Unus was forced to distract his attention somewhat to look at him, and when he did Iceman attacked his field with a giant ice club. It smashed into fragments when he did so, some of them hitting Maria. She shut her eyes and sighed. The rest of the team seemed a greater threat to her today than Gunthar was.

"Sorry," Bobby said to her, and she shrugged. She turned to Scott. "OK, Cyclops--what's our next move?"

Cyclops looked frustrated. "Honestly, Shift--I don't know!" He shook his head. "Neither side seems able to take out the other."

"Let me keep hammering away at his force field," she said, still in her oak form. "It'll give sooner or later. It _has_ to!"

Cyclops looked at some debris in the street caused by the battle so far. "I don't know...the damage might be severe."

The Beast suddenly appeared next to Cyclops. "Cyke--we need time. I have an idea. Have Angel deposit him on top of a skyscraper or something. Then we retire to the Mansion post haste. I think I know how to defeat Unus without anyone getting hurt."

Cyclops considered this. "OK, Hank. You're back in the fold?"

"Like the meekest and most mild of sheep, O Fearless Leader."

"Fair enough." He gestured to Angel, who had heard this exchange. He approached Unus and stretched out his arms. Then he flew straight up and into the sky, taking Unus and his force-field with him. They saw the two of them get smaller and smaller, and Angel finally left Unus near the top of the Pan Am building. He flew quickly back to the team, while they collected themselves.

This wasn't easy. As soon as Unus was out of sight and the menace ended, reporters and TV crews swarmed over the X-Men, and the one they gave their attention to was Shift. Who was she, where did she come from, was this her real form, what were her powers, how was she able to turn herself into a tree, for Chrissakes, what else could she do--

On and on it went, and Maria looked helplessly at Cyclops, who finally took command. "Ladies and gentlemen," he said after a few moments, "the X-Men are dealing with a serious threat to public safety. We would strongly advise all of you to clear the area. As for our newest member--she is named Shift, and her powers and fighting ability and spirit speak for themselves. We are very happy to have her with the team."

Needless to say, this did not satisfy the media horde, and they called out questions to the others--mostly, of course, to Jean. Numerous cameras flashed in her face, and reporters asked her endless questions, from what shampoo did she use, to which of the X-Men was she sweet on, to why she wore her mask with those silly pigtails, to whether or not she was really Ann-Margaret, to whether she was going to quit the X-Men and start a Hollywood career, to--

Finally, Scott got them all away, though Maria felt it was a little like the retreat from Moscow. She was still getting some questions from the reporters, as was Jean, and a couple of lady reporters had questions for the Angel. Jean, Maria thought, wasn't entirely displeased with the attention. She smiled. To be brutally honest, neither was she.


	15. Assignment

Chapter Fifteen

* * *

Carmella Unuscione watched the fight on live TV. Her pupils were dilated, her breathing was coming in gasps. She could never remember being this excited in her entire life.

The X-Men! The traitors! And Maria Gianelli, joining them! Carmella remembered _her_ well enough. That damned _freak._ With that child's cartoon face of hers, and those  &$%^# Shifting powers... An oak! My God! What next--a weeping willow! Maybe a daisy! Throw powder puffs at her enemies! Carmella was all but steaming from her ears. She had never liked that freak when she knew her, and now she felt a wave of sheer hatred. That she had joined _them!_ And had the nerve to fight _her_ father!

She raged and stormed for some time, then heard the front door open. Yes--there was Daddy, coming in the door still in his red costume, looking like something the cat dragged in.

"Daddy!" she cried out, coming over and hugging him. "How did you get here without the police following you?"

Gunthar sagged into a chair. "That wasn't hard," he said wearily. "That's a big building. I walked down some, then took an elevator and just went into the basement, and blasted open a wall with my field. Then I walked underground for awhile, came out a subway stop, and walked here. There were some stares, but no one was fool enough to try to interfere. I made sure no one was watching before I came inside." He shook his head, looking as though he were searching for something. "Cripes, Carm. I must be out of my mind."

"No!" she called out in a clear voice. "You're doing the right thing, Daddy! All you have to do is find the X-Men and destroy them! I'll join you! We'll make short work of them!"

"NO!" Gunthar said, finally riled up. He looked at his daughter. "Girl, I absolutely forbid you to take any active role in this. _Absolutely._ Do you hear me?"

She looked rebellious for a moment, then breathed a sigh of defeat. "Yes, Daddy," she said sullenly. "You're making a mistake."

"It won't be the first time," he said. "Not by a long shot." At that moment, the phone rang. Carmella picked it up, and listened. "For you," she said, handing him the phone. The mannered drawl on the other end made the speaker's identity obvious.

"Umm-hmm. It doesn't appear to us, Mr Unuscione, that your heart was really in your little endeavor this afternoon."

 _Mastermind._ He shut his eyes, and ignored Carmella's whispered question: "Is it Magneto?" "Look, Mastermind--" Carmella looked disappointed and she walked away-- "I know I screwed up today. Hey, you guys are used to this sort of thing, but it was my first time out of the box. I'll do better next time."

"Perhaps, perhaps not. As it stands, all you managed to accomplish was for the two female X-Men to get their pictures in the papers. Even the unfortunate-looking one. And my dear Mr Unuscione--the spectacle of _her_   on the front pages of every tabloid in the land is enough to quake even the stoutest heart. We must see improvement, sooner rather than later."

"You'll have it!" he snapped, and hung up. Carmella had retreated to her room, and Gunthar knew he had to keep going in this crazy quest. He felt helpless in the face of her determination.

* * *

When they returned to the Mansion, Hank immediately closeted himself with the Professor, and soon afterwards entered the lab, not to re-emerge that day. A request from Maria as to what he was doing met with a polite non-answer, and she knew enough not to ask any more. The rest of the team spent the evening desultorily, and they all got to bed early on the recommendation of the Professor. Hank, meanwhile, remained in the lab, working through the night.

Maria rose early the next morning, having slept poorly. She had some black coffee, and opened the _Daily Bugle._ And almost dropped her cup. There she was, staring into the eyes of the newspaper reader. A giant headline over her: "Who is Shift?" And indeed, on the inside, there were pictures of her fighting Unus, and a picture of her in her "oak" guise. And to Maria's amusement--

Jean joined her, and Maria could tell that _she_ had seen the paper, all right. "And how are _you_ doing, Miss Page Five?" Maria asked with a laugh. Jean shot her a sour look, then realized how silly it was and laughed herself.

"Well, Maria, after all, you _are_ the new girl on the block," she said. "I'm old news by now."

"Yeah--but a glamor gal, being pushed to the back pages--by _me?_ " Maria looked carefully at the paper. "Oh well--I'd better enjoy it while it lasts. I rather suspect you'll be reclaiming your spot on Page One before we know it."

"Well, Maria, some things are just the way that nature intended." Maria gave Jean a mock scowl and turned to the comics section.

Later that morning, Hank finally emerged from the lab, looking exhilarated and holding a small instrument that looked to Maria like a sort of gun. "You look pretty good for someone who's been working so long without rest," she said, and he shrugged.

"Oh, I have the vitality of ten men when I'm really roused, my dear Miss Gianelli," he said, smiling broadly and looking very pleased with himself. The Professor smiled.

"I take it, Henry, that our surmise worked out?"

"It did, Professor. I was convinced," he said, turning to the others, "that Unus' power is generated somehow from his immune system. That, as a mutant, it is _so_ powerful that he can extend it somehow, creating energy from it that creates the force-field." He turned the "gun" over in his hands. "Well--this will _increase_ Unus' power. His immune system will be so powerful that, indeed, he'll be totally invulnerable to any kind of invasion--biological or otherwise--from outside. And he'll rediscover the ancient saying--'be careful what you wish for. You might just get it'."

* * *

Gunthar was hungry. There was almost nothing in the apartment, even though he gave Carmella grocery money. A query about the matter got a shrug from her, and a rather off-hand comment about her trying to watch her figure, and she supposed he was eating out a lot...which in fact he did. To allay suspicion, she showed him the cache where she was keeping the money he gave her. He was relieved to see it, though whatever Carmella's faults were, dishonesty was not one of them.

Gunthar sighed. He threw on a jacket over his costume, and headed out. Anyone who looked too hard at his tights was welcome to. As for the police, to hell with them. He'd almost welcome getting arrested. At least it would solve the problem of what he was supposed to do. He kept turning the matter over and over in his mind. He couldn't let Carm down. That wasn't an option. So that left getting hold of an X-Man. For "dissection". That didn't seem like an option, either. Unfortunately, he didn't know how to avoid one or the other.

There was a delicatessen near their apartment. Gunthar headed for it, hoping they had their special tuna loaf in today. He breathed deeply, taking the air into his lungs. It felt good. It was a nice day--the heat of the summer was gone, and it was definitely fall. Fall in New York...there were a lot worse places to be. Maybe he could get out of this mess yet.

He turned the corner. And stopped dead. The X-Men were facing him, arrayed in a semi-circle. His heart sank. "How'd you people find me, for God's sake?" he asked wearily. He was not in the mood for a fight, but they had taken the matter out of his hands, it appeared. With a curse, he threw his jacket to the sidewalk.

It was the Beast--holding some kind of contraption that looked like a kid's plastic gun--who spoke. "My dear Unus, we X-Men know how to find mutants when we need to." Unus searched their faces, and Maria was almost laughing at the Beast's words. There was something funny--funny odd, and funny ha-ha--about this to them. That made Gunthar mad. They thought this was a joke? Cripes-- _they_   were all brats, too young to have daughters of their own. Someday, he hoped fiercely, they'd realize that there was nothing funny whatsoever about having a daughter.

"OK," he said with a snarl. "So you've found me. So what?" He was feeling angrier and angrier. This whole mess--and the X-Men seemed so damned confident. That gun. What did it do, anyway?

In a second, he found out. The Beast pointed it at him, and pulled the trigger, and a beam of light penetrated Gunthar's body, filling it with--what? With a sudden shock, Gunthar realized that he felt _stronger_   all of a sudden. Like his power was invincible, that _he_ was invincible. Like he couldn't be beaten. Cripes--whatever it was supposed to do to him, it had backfired! They had just made him more powerful than ever!

He laughed, and strode towards them. Maria blocked his way, and he shook his head at the girl. "Kid--I'd really advise you to stay clear right now. I dunno what your Neanderthal friend just did to me, but I feel like a million bucks. I wouldn't be afraid of Magneto himself right about now." He moved right through their line, and then turned, curious. "Well?" he asked Cyclops. "Aren't you going to attack, or anything?"

"No," Cyclops answered quietly. "No, Unus, we aren't going to do a thing. Our plan is working just as we expected it to. You'll find that out in a very short time."

Gunthar actually laughed. "Ha! I expected better of you, X-Men, than a cheap bluff. I'm actually stronger than ever before!"

"Indeed," the Beast said, in so quiet a voice that Gunthar felt a twinge. What did they know that he didn't? The hell with it. If they wanted to strengthen his powers, they were welcome to. He had other fish to fry. _Like tuna,_ he thought suddenly, aware again of how hungry he was. He turned away from them and headed to the deli, about halfway down the block. He tried not to notice that they were following at a respectful distance, and that a large crowd was gathering in the street. Cripes--why did he suddenly feel like he was in an episode of _Car 54, Where Are You?_   Where were Tweedy and Muldoon? Where were the Keystone Cops? Where were Abbott and Costello?

Forget it. He walked into the deli, and the customers stared at him, eyes wide. He ignored them. "I'm starved, Phil," he said to the man at the counter, whom he had known for years. Phil just smiled weakly at him. "Phil--I have to admit, I left my money at home." _Cripes--why in hell did I do that? Can't I do_ _anything_ _right today?_ "Can I put it on my tab?" he asked, with a slight laugh. Phil's smile just got weaker and he nodded.

"Sure, Gunthar. Sure." He looked around. "What can I get you?"

"The tuna loaf?" Gunthar asked, and Phil immediately started putting some in a container. Soon pickles, bread, some of Phil's special potato salad, and some liverwurst for Carmella, joined it. Phil put it on the counter, and Gunthar was so hungry that he reached for a piece of bread--

\--And it moved away from him.

 _What the hell?_ Gunthar reached for the bread again, and once more it moved away. He reached for the tuna, the liverwurst, the potato salad-- The story was the same. Everything he tried to touch moved away from him. He felt himself panic, trying to grab everything on the shelves that he could. Soon, the store was in a state of chaos as everything moved out of his path as he tried to reach it, touch it. He just opened his mouth and tried to eat the potato salad without touching it with his hands. It merely moved away from him as he came close with his mouth.

"This is crazy," he said, getting frantic. He tried once more with the tuna loaf, and once more it refused to permit itself to be touched. He looked around, not trying to hide his panic now. There was a crowd gathered outside the deli, with those brats--the X-Men--in the center of it, looking at him with satisfaction. The Beast! That damned gun! He had done something to him!

He left the deli and looked at the X-Men. "What did you do to me?" he asked frantically. "I can't touch anything! This is nuts! I have to eat! You're--you're not trying to starve me to death, are you?"

Cyclops looked at him grimly. "No, Unus, we're not _trying_ to do any such thing. But on the other hand, if we're not satisfied that you're not going to become a danger to the public at large--"

Unus threw his hands up, in surrender. "Hey! I promise! I've learned my lesson! Cripes, I never wanted any of this! But Carm wanted it..." He stopped, realizing that he didn't want to make excuses. Maria, he noticed, was giving him a sympathetic look, and he found that he was grateful for that.

"We have your word?" the Beast persisted, and Gunthar, conceding defeat, nodded. "So be it," the Beast said, and that weird gun went off again, and once more Gunthar felt the beam go through him, and when it was done he knew immediately that he was all right, the way he was supposed to be, and that that bizarre sense of power--almost a _rush_ of power--that he experienced before was an illusion, an illusion that had come with a cost too high for him to pay. He took a deep breath, and put his hand on the sidewalk. He was able to touch it. "Thank God," he said, almost in an undertone.

"Just remember, our untouchable friend," the Beast said, "that we retain this weapon. If you should forget your pledge, we'll come back and use it again. And next time, we'll throw away the antidote."

Gunthar shook his head. "You guys got nothing to worry about," he said firmly. "I'm going back to the wrasslin' ring where I belong." And he started to stride away from the X-Men, and to his relief they just let him go.

* * *

Hank McCoy felt a surge of triumph as Unus walked away. He hadn't been 100% certain that his invention would work as advertised. It _should_   have. But there was that famous phrase, "back to the drawing board". At least it was inappropriate _this_ time.

A crowd gathered around the X-Men. Once more, reporters were asking questions of them, and to Hank's amusement, this time Jean was the center of attention. He made a shrug of sympathy towards Maria--yesterday's news!--and she stuck her tongue out at him. Hank felt as if that was the sexiest gesture in the world, despite--because of?--Maria's blatant lack of ostensible sexiness. Jean, to his satisfaction, was giving diplomatic non-answers to the questions, including the ones about which member of the team she was secretly in love with. Hank wondered how much that cost her--having to even be asked questions about that publicly, with Scott right here.

Meanwhile, a very distraught Phil was complaining to Cyclops about the damage to his delicatessen, and threatening the terrors of the earth unless he were reimbursed. Hank lost interest. He knew how _that_ would turn out. The Professor would in fact reimburse Phil through a cut-out he employed for just these types of situations so as to protect their identities. He was somewhat interested to see a horde of teenage girls shrieking at Warren as if he were one of the Beatles--why didn't that ever happen to _him,_ he wondered sourly? And Maria--

Maria was off by herself, the focus of some fascinated looks given her by local children. She was letting some of them rub their hands over her skin, and oohing and ahhing about her face. One small Negro boy asked her if she were a Negro herself, and she just smiled at him and said that she was a mutant, and that mutants didn't have the race differences of other people.

The child considered this, then pointed to Jean. "But _she's_ white," the boy said. "In fact, her skin looks like it would burn up in the sun."

Jean flushed slightly, and Maria patted the boy on the head. "But she's a mutant, all the same. Which means that her skin has a special toughness. She _never_ gets a tan, much less burns. That's a special power we mutants have. All of us."

Hank almost snickered openly. This "power" was news to him--and, he imagined, the Professor as well. He noticed Jean biting her tongue. But the children swallowed it whole, and Hank realized that a brand new legend had just been launched upon a helpless world. He sighed. It was time to get back to the Mansion.

* * *

Gunthar got home, weary, relieved, and wondering what his reception would be from Carmella. He hadn't long to wait. He could hear activity from her room--

He went to the entrance, and saw her packing. "Carm!" he said, distraught. "What are you doing?"

She looked at him, and he could see she had been crying. "What the hell does it look like, Daddy?" she asked bitterly. "I'm leaving. Now. For good."

Gunthar was stricken for a moment. "You can't, kid," he finally said. "Hey, come on. It's not that bad."

"Not that bad!" she cried, and for a second he thought she was actually about to attack him with _her_ force-field. "Daddy--you walked away from the X-Men like a whipped dog. You might as well have had your tail between your legs."

"Carm--I _was_ whipped. They had some kind of machine--"

But Carmella didn't want to hear it. "Not another word, Daddy!" she said with a sob. "Not one more word. I'm not interested in your excuses." She finished packing and zipped up her suitcase. "I'm off now. It's time. Believe me, Daddy, if anyone can take care of themselves, _I_ can."

Gunthar slumped against her doorway. "Kid--please. Don't let things end like this between us."

"It's too late for _that,_ Daddy," she said. "I can tell you this, though--someday, somehow, I'm going to make a reckoning with the X-Men. They'll be sorry they ever heard the name Unuscione!"

Gunthar found he had nothing to say to this. He went to the stash where the grocery money was, took it all out, and added more to it. "Here, Carm," he said quietly. "At least take this, OK? It's all I can give you right now."

She thought for a second, then nodded and took the money. "All right, Daddy," she said. "I'll pay it back some day. Making money will be the least of my worries. I know that much, at least."

Gunthar nodded, and sat down in the living room. In a couple of minutes, Carmella appeared with her suitcase.

"Well, Daddy, I guess this is goodbye."

"Not for good?" he said, voice downcast. "We'll see each other again sometime, won't we, Carm?"

"The future is a long time, Daddy," she said carefully. "I'm sure we shall." And she suddenly came over and hugged her father. "Take care, Daddy. Until we meet again."

"Until we meet again, Carm," he said, but she was already out the door. Gunther Unuscione just sat in his living room, as the day inexorably changed over into night.

* * *

Jason Wyngarde grunted, and shut off the TV set. Well. The X-Men triumphant once again. The "villain" foiled. Just as well. Unus was a loser. Had he actually joined the Brotherhood, Wyngarde could have foreseen...problems.

Well, time to inform their Esteemed Leader of the fiasco. He slowly walked towards Magneto's quarters. He knocked, and received a peremptory "come in." Wyngarde found Magneto meditating in the center of the room, about six feet off the floor, wearing a pair of shorts and "sitting" in a lotus position. He glared at Wyngarde, who told him the news.

Magneto thought for a second, and slowly lowered himself into a normal standing position. "This is interesting news," he said. "About the Beast, that is. I knew McCoy was smart, indeed the smartest of the bunch. But I did _not_ know he was capable of this sort of prodigy. I shall have to adjust my thinking regarding him."

Wyngarde nodded. "Quite so, sir. Meanwhile, are there any orders regarding Unus? The Beast? Or indeed, about anything?"

Magneto looked at him, and Wyngarde shrivelled a little, as he always did when Magneto looked straight at him. "My dear Jason--when I have orders, I assure you, you'll be the first to know."

Wyngarde nodded again, said, "of course, Magneto," and left the room immediately. Whenever Magneto called him "Jason", he knew he was walking a very fine line. Get out of sight, and hopefully out of mind. He would look for Wanda, and flirt as only he could. That always made him feel better.

* * *

Frank Gianelli was sitting at his desk in the _Daily Bugle_ 's City Room, writing over and over on his new electronic typewriter: "Shift", "Shift", "Shift". He looked at the word, ran it over on his tongue, in his mind, trying to decide if he liked it or not. Finally, he realized that he did. It fitted the kid. And seeing her on the front page of the paper had been a surreal experience. He knew that that edition had sold out quick, and that people all over the city--the country--hell, the world--were fascinated with Maria. She had become a celebrity in very short order. Maybe some of it was just the fascination of the freak show. But her power also impressed people, and there was a definite edge of sympathy in much of the reaction to her. Beauty-in-the-form-of-a-beast...that sort of thing. A surprising number of people found her, if not attractive--no one could say _that_ \--at least fascinating, and even beautiful in some intense way. The same way that, say, a Jackson Pollock painting, or a John Coltrane album, were beautiful.

The City Editor came over to his desk, and Frank grabbed the paper from his typewriter and tossed it into his wastebasket. "Yeah, Ray?" he asked.

"Jonah wants to see you," his boss said. "Now."

Frank got to his feet quickly. "Am I in trouble, Ray?"

"Not so far as I know, Frank. But you'd best get your ass up there." Frank moved with alacrity, and soon was outside Jameson's office.

"Is he in a good mood, Betty?" he asked Jonah's young secretary, who smiled at him.

"Well, he's _never_ in what you'd call a 'good' mood," she said with a smile that emphasized her brown eyes--Betty's best feature, he always thought. "But he's been in worse." That was good news, and Frank breathed a sigh of relief. "He's been in worse" meant Jonah was practically in a manic state--at least, by his standards. He gingerly knocked on the door, and got a gruff "come in" as a response.

"You wanted to see me, Mr Jameson?" he asked, and Jameson looked up from his desk. He was looking through some photos--and Frank noticed with interest that they were pictures of the X-Men, including several of Maria. He suddenly felt his heart beating fast.

"Gianelli," Jonah said without preamble, "what do you know about mutants?"

Frank licked his lips. "Mutants, Mr Jameson?"

"Yeah," Jonah snarled. "You know. X-Men. Magneto. _Those_ mutants. You do know what I mean, Gianelli?"

"Of course, sir," Frank said, realizing that he had better sound like he knew what he was talking about, and right now. "Well, sir, they're mysterious. They apparently have been around awhile, but they've just become big news in the past year or so." He paused, and an idea came to him. "And it's just in the past couple of years that so-called 'super-heroes' have come out of the woodwork, all at once. There used to be Captain America and the Human Torch and the Sub-Mariner, but after the War, with a couple of minor incidents, they sort of faded. Now we have the Fantastic Four, and the Avengers, and Spider--" Frank almost swallowed his tongue, but Jameson, very calmly, finished the sentence for him.

"And Spider-Man, Gianelli. Yes, him too." Jameson looked out the window, eyes seeming to search for something just out of his reach. "And that's a good point, Gianelli. A damned good one. Why _now_? Why are mutants coming out of the woodwork _now_? Along with all the other so-called 'super-heroes'?" He turned back to Frank. "It's not exactly a secret, Gianelli, what I think of all this. Costumed vigilantes with super-abilities, accountable to no one. Taking the law into their own hands. Creating--by their own activities--the very 'villains' that they then ostensibly--and so publicly--defeat. A vicious cycle, that can only end in anarchy and mass destruction. _They're_ as much of a danger as the nuclear balance-of-terror, Gianelli. I believe that absolutely."

"Yes, sir," Frank said. He took a mental deep breath. Other _Bugle_ employees had heard this speech, but this was Frank's first taste of it. He wondered what it meant, that Jonah was telling it to _him._

"It doesn't matter whether or not they're 'sincere' ", Jonah said carefully. "I don't have any doubts that all of them--even Spider-Man--believe they're doing the right thing. And in certain instances, their activities _do_ have a positive benefit. Only an idiot can deny that. And none of that is the point," he said, lighting one of his cigars. "What matters is that they exist, and that they proliferate. Utterly without oversight from any duly appointed authority. Richards and the so-called 'Fantastic Four' are probably the least dangerous. At least they haven't tried to hide their identities behind masks. And the Avengers have clearance for their activities from the government. But my God! They include this 'Thor'. A _god_?" Jonah said, sighing heavily. "God--the real God--knows who, what he really is. But it's like having an H-Bomb walking around loose. Look at the havok they unleashed on this town a few months ago. The FF, the Avengers-and the Hulk. They practically wiped out half of Midtown. It was sheer luck that we didn't have a body count higher than Hiroshima."

"Yes, sir," Frank said, wondering why he was here. Jameson finally enlightened him.

"Gianelli--these mutants. God knows where they come from, or why they're popping out of the woodwork _now_. But we need to find out more." He picked up a picture of Shift and tossed it over to Frank. "That's your assignment, Gianelli. Find out what you can about mutants. About the X-Men." He gestured to the picture. "Especially about _her_. This 'Shift'. Who she is, where she comes from. What her powers are. What new nightmare we have to worry about. It doesn't matter whether the X-Men think they're 'good', or whether Magneto and his crew are 'evil'. Both represent powers too great to be allowed to run loose."

Jonah looked Frank right in the eyes. "Gianelli--you have as much time as it takes. Do what you did with Foswell and his Enforcers. Start at the bottom, make contacts, and work your way up. Find out everything you can about these mutants. And above all--about _her_. Shift. You know how it works. Get started today."

Frank stood there feeling himself in a state of shock. This wasn't happening. He was hallucinating this. He would wake up and it would all go away...

"Why are you still in my office, Gianelli?" Jameson asked, and Frank snapped out of it. "Yes, sir," he said, and walked out, past Betty, ignoring her smiling question. He found himself somehow back at his desk. He took some deep breaths, and wondered what his sins had been, that God had done this to him. Finally he noticed someone standing over his desk. He looked up.

"What's the matter, _Paisan_?" Ben Urich asked. "You look like you've been given an order to execute your family."

To his credit, Frank didn't either throw up or laugh in Ben's face. "Oh, just as assignment from Jameson," he said. "Just thinking about it." Ben nodded, and returned to his office. Frank sat there and wondered what on earth he was going to do.

* * *

Scott Summers was exercising in the gym, lifting weights and--as usual--doing a little more than he originally intended. This was good-- _Lug. Lift_.--because every extra thing he did gave him a slight edge, and that-- _Lug. Lift._ \--just make the difference between life and-- _Lug. Lift._ \--death someday.

He winced, because Jean had entered the gym, and apart from the constant angst he always felt in her presence he still felt bad about the incident during the Blob fight, when she had slipped up concerning Shift's name. She seemed to have forgotten it, but Scott certainly hadn't. Indeed, it tormented him, feeling that--however necessary in his role as team leader--it had shamed her, and he would cut his arm off before causing Jean any pain. But Jean didn't look upset or angry now. Indeed, quite the opposite...

"Yes, Jean?" he asked, putting the weight down.

"Oh, Scott," she said, and to Scott's amazement she was practically purring as she spoke.

"Yes, Jean?" he repeated, his voice suddenly uncertain.

"When we fought Unus..."

"Yes?" he asked, definitely feeling on the defensive now. He suddenly had a bad suspicion--oh no; it _couldn't_ be--

But it was. "--Well...at one point, you referred to the Beast as 'Hank'." She smiled, and by God if Jean _didn't_ look like a cat who had just swallowed the canary.

Scott shut his eyes. This wasn't happening. Not to him. Not now. Why me, God? he asked hopelessly, and opened his eyes again and she was still there, with that almost feral smile on her face. "You don't have to enjoy this _quite_ so much, Jean," he said quietly, but with a small smile on his face nonetheless. He'd surrender with grace. If she'd let him.

"Oh, yes I do," she said, still purring. "I'm quite a malicious little thing when I get the chance, or hadn't you noticed, Mr Summers?"

Scott winced inside. He was damned if he _had_ noticed. To his shock and horror, his pulse was racing like a jackhammer. Jean Grey had never looked as beautiful to him as she did at this moment, smiling wickedly--almost leering--at him, enjoying his embarrassment without the slightest pretense that she wasn't. For a brief, horrible instant Scott thought he was just going to take her in his arms and kiss her as if only he and she existed, tell her something--anything--of what she meant to him...

Needless to say, he mastered this impulse. But that moment, he knew, would be with him the rest of his life. He merely sighed. "Well--it's _my_ turn to go to the Professor." He looked at Jean. "Jean--I'm grateful for you bringing this to my attention. No, really, all kidding aside. If I can make a mistake this big, after making such a fuss with you over a similar slip--well, it means I have more to learn than I realized."

Suddenly, Jean was serious. She put her hand on his arm. "We're all here for each other, Scott. We're all still making mistakes. But we learn, and grow. One of these days, we might actually make a team of ourselves."

Scott actually grinned. "It is to be hoped," he said, and went off in search of the Professor.


	16. Birthday Party

BOOK THREE: TRUE CONFESSIONS

* * *

Chapter Sixteen

* * *

Jean tossed and turned that night, finding sleep reluctant to come and take her in its arms. The arms _she_ wanted around her belonged to someone quite different. She felt it as an almost physical ache--the desire to feel Scott next to her, to feel _his_ arms around her, to kiss him, to muss his hair and feel him stroking hers, to feel them slowly but surely merging together as one organism. She had reached the point where she resented being alone at night, where she felt that this was intolerable, where she felt the absence of the boy she loved as almost something akin to being without an arm or a leg. She turned over and sighed. Had anyone else ever felt this way, she wondered-- _really_   felt this way? She seriously doubted it.

Not that she was thinking about sex yet. Not the actual physical intimacy part. She knew that they were both still young, not yet eighteen--though Scott's birthday was next week. Jean, for the most part, even during her most intense longings, managed to put a certain natural reticence over the actual act itself. It was supposed to be such an overwhelming experience. She had no benchmarks by which to say. Her self-experimenting, while certainly interesting, didn't lead her to believe that there was anything here that was as bloody wonderful as everyone said. She had a strong suspicion it was something people overrated, she thought rather dismally. She'd do everything she could to make it wonderful for Scott, whenever it actually happened, in that misty future she envisioned. And she knew of course, without really thinking consciously about it, that he would be as considerate as possible towards her. She simply took that for granted. But what would love really be like, she asked herself for the thousandth time as she lay in bed?

 _Do you really think he loves me?,_ she had asked Maria.

_Think? Red-I_ _know._

Those words made up Jean Grey's entire universe these days. She believed them. Scott loved her. That made her ecstatic. It lifted her up, made everything else unimportant. Except for her duties as an X-Man, she told herself. She was determined never to neglect them. And she hadn't, she was confident. But even then-- She sighed, and reached over to the empty section of the bed. My God--she _ached_. Scott...his touch, his caress, the smile, oh yes, the smile Jean was so determined to put on that solemn face of his, the smile that he'd use when looking at her. The rest of the time he could be as gloomy and sober as he wanted but when he was with _her_ she'd put that smile on his face, that smile that she already knew in her mind so well and that would only be for her...

Jean stretched her arms, and felt sleek and very sexy. Not mysterious--if there was one thing she knew, it was that no woman ever felt "mysterious". That was something men made up for whatever reasons of their own. Women--certainly Jean Grey--were creatures of their bodies like all animals were, with physical functions and eating and sleeping and above all that Monthly Hell. All that precluded any "mystery" on women's part. Alluring, sexy, flirtatious, any word you cared to name, yes. But "mysterious?" The thought made Jean laugh. If anyone was mysterious, it was the guys. The way they let so little of themselves show to the rest of the world. Especially to the women in their lives, though Jean realized she had no real basis for feeling this, not knowing what men said to each other. But women showed their feelings, while men kept them in. You never really knew what any man felt about anything. Jean smiled grimly. _That_ , at least, would not be an issue with her and Scott. She had no intention of permitting him to hide his feelings from _her_. She would explore every level, pry and dig out every aspect of his soul. Let Scott Summers try to keep anything hidden from her! Of course, she realized, that went both ways. She could keep nothing hidden from _him_ , either. And thinking that, she realized what a challenge that might be to Scott, who held so much in. Well-that was too bad for him. Where love was concerned, Jean recognized no boundaries. She could not love half-way. And she realized with absolute certainty that Scott, despite his seeming reserve, was exactly the same. The thought almost made her explode with anticipation and frustration.

 _No_ , she thought again. _Red--you're only seventeen_. But even as she thought that, other thoughts came to her, and she couldn't keep them out as much as she used to. She and Scott. Together. Somewhere, somehow, they'd be in a position to show their love to the fullest extent. Not here at the Mansion. That thought almost ruined her mood. Under the Professor's own roof! That would be disrespectful to a man to whom both of them owed everything. No, Jean was a bit uncertain in her mind exactly when and where this great moment occurred. But she imagined it so completely in her imagination... She shook her head sadly as she lay there. There _had_ to be more to sexual intercourse than she thought. Something she wasn't getting. In any event, she sure hoped so.

Practical considerations entered her mind, too, as they so often did. Should she start now trying to find some way of going on the Pill? Was it too early to think about this? And if not, how could she get her hands on it? She was much too young to think about a baby now. And she had no intention of waiting _that_ long before sharing her love with Scott. Not immediately, of course--she was after all only seventeen, she reminded herself yet again. But in the not-inconceivably-distant future, she told herself, feeling suddenly alert, alive, in every cell. Her nipples were heavy, and, as she found when she examined them, large--even larger than they usually were when she thought about this subject. But _knowing_ Scott loved her made it all seem so real--! And so--imminent... ( _No. Red--you're only seventeen!_ ) She felt her nipples, felt the gooseflesh coming out all over her... She moved her hand down her body, slowly but unhesitatingly. Yes--she was wet. More than she could ever remember being. Her fingers moved through her pubic hair, getting damper by the second. Scott--Scott loved her. He loved her. He _loved_   her. And she loved him, so much, so much... And it was _real_. It was going to happen. Oh my God, it was going to _happen_...

_OH MY GOD!_

Jean shuddered, lying there, her breath coming in short gasps, tears running down her face, feeling--what? What the hell had _that_   been? She dared to open her eyes, and she knew suddenly that she had just had an orgasm--her first orgasm. She had had one! My God-- _that_ was what the fuss was all about! Ohhhh-- She shivered, and felt foolish. Just a moment ago, she had been oh-so-superior to those who talked about sex as something wonderful. She almost cried out in sheer mortification. A seventeen-year old virgin, expressing an opinion! She felt a hundred times more embarrassed than she was when Scott told her of her slip-up with the Blob. Then her thoughts...changed.

_Oh, my. If it's all going to happen--then_ _this_ _moment is going to happen again, too. Lots of times. A whole lifetime worth of times..._

This thought made Jean feel incredibly happy, and she just lay there in bliss for some time. Then suddenly, she sat up and practical considerations entered her mind again. His dark glasses! How could he wear _them_   while they were intimate? She actually got out of bed and walked around her room in sheer frustration. They might fall off during passion! "Might", hell--they _would_   fall off! Scott might kill her during sex! And the very fact of that fear would keep him from trying! She almost sobbed in sheer dismay. She knew Scott. He was so goddam considerate... No good, she thought forlornly as she crawled back into bed. There was a real practical problem here. There _must_ be a solution. She was clever. She'd think of something. She would have her way in this.

She was dozing slightly as another thought came to her. Another practical one. Back to the damned problem with the Pill. What if she _couldn't_ get hold of it? What if it made her as sick as some of the stories she had heard about it? What if it just didn't work on mutant physiology? Was that even possible? In any event, what were the alternatives? For--well--someday? ( _You're only seventeen._ ) She sighed. A rubber, she thought without enthusiasm. Dammit--she didn't want one of those things inside her, she wanted _Scott_ inside her. But she didn't want a baby soon, either. Well, everything was a compromise, she supposed. But wasn't the business of getting them out of the wrappers and getting them on supposed to be such a hassle that it spoiled the mood? She could have kicked the bed out of sheer frustration. She'd think of _something_.

And just as she was drifting off, that thought, remarkably enough, came to her. _By God, I'm a telekinetic! What if_ _I_ _was putting the rubber on Scott--_ _my_ _way? The way that only I could?_ She hugged herself. _That_ wouldn't spoil the mood--far from it! Especially if she were enhancing Scott, and for that matter herself, in other ways as she was doing it? She was, after all, a mutant. She could give Scott unique experiences...

That thought finally comforted her enough to get her to sleep, nodding off with all sorts of new vistas in her mind. Not immediately, of course--later, someday... After all, she thought with her last conscious thought before sleep totally embraced her, she was only seventeen...

* * *

Two days later, Jean was in the kitchen with Maria. It was a Saturday, and Carla--blessedly--was absent. God knows what sort of reaction she'd have to the spectacle going on in the kitchen that afternoon. Scott's birthday was three days away, but they were having a dinner at the Mansion for him tonight. The Professor was leaving for a conference the next day, and wouldn't return until late in the week. For Scott's actual birthday, the rest of the team--absent Maria, of course--was having a bash at the Coffee-a-Go-Go. But this night, Maria and the Professor would be with the rest of them for a special dinner. And Maria had offered to make what she confidently predicted would be the "world's greatest spaghetti."

"You haven't lived," she said with a mysterious smile, "until you've eaten Momma Gianelli's Spaghetti." The others were agreeable to this, and Maria had dragooned Jean into helping her with the preparations. As a result, Jean was sitting there in the kitchen while Maria was standing by the counter. The cupboards were all open, and Jean was telekinetically handing ingredients to Maria as requested. The sauce was in preparation now, and Jean was already feeling alarm as she watched the preparations.

It wasn't even a pot that Maria was pouring everything into--more of a cauldron; it seemed big enough to feed a football team. Maria had begun prosaically enough with tomatoes. Lots of them. Dozens and dozens. She just kept tossing them at Jean, and the latter was cutting them open telekinetically with a knife and squishing them above the opening of the "pot". Maria kept examining the result, stirring and occasionally tasting, muttering to herself. Then pepper--lots and lots of it. More stirring, more tasting, more muttering. Then zucchini, and more cut-and-squish treatment from Jean. Not as much as the tomato, but still plenty. Jean followed this with some interest, but it didn't seem particularly extreme so far.

Then it did begin to get interesting. A few pineapples squeezed into the sauce. Jean raised her eyebrows, but stayed silent, smiling to herself in the general air of bliss she was still very much in. Maria looked at Jean occasionally, as if she was going to say something regarding this happy state of affairs, but restrained herself. Then some ground parmesian cheese, onion powder, a few whole onions ground up finely--that was a bit of a challenge to Jean, until she got the hang of it--crushed mushrooms, peppercorn, lemon juice--

"Lemon juice?" Jean finally had the nerve to ask aloud, and Maria merely raised her brows.

"Do I detect some skepticism, Miss Grey?" Maria asked, her voice stern.

"Oh, no," Jean said, a bit abashed. "Not at all."

"Excellent," Maria said. "This is my operation, I'll remind you, Miss Grey. You are merely the assisting nurse... Honey, please."

"Yes, Maria," Jean said, trying to keep the amusement out of her voice, as she poured in about six tablespoons full of honey into the cauldron. Stirring, tasting, muttering... "Tobasco sauce."

Jean provided the tobasco sauce. Finally, she couldn't help herself.

"Maria," she asked, "where, exactly, did you come up with this recipe? Did you get it from your mother? Before you became a mutant? I don't see how you could have created this during your--well--travels."

Maria raised one brow at Jean. "Do you really want an answer to that question, Jean?"

Jean considered this, and puckered her brow. "I guess not."

"Quite right," Maria said primly. "And now, Miss Grey, if we can get back to the patient..."

And so it went, one ingredient after the next, each one more improbable than the one before. Jean kept on doing as requested without protest. Finally, however, Maria went too far.

"Bosco sauce, please."

" _Bosco sauce?_ " Jean said, rising up out of her chair. "Maria Gianelli, if you're trying to poison us, you're sure doing a helluva job--"

Maria's face remained expressionless--or at least as expressionless as it could get for Jean--and she merely said quietly: "If you please, Miss Grey. The patient is at a delicate juncture right now. The doctor must be especially vigilant... Bosco sauce, please."

Sighing and sitting down, Jean provided the Bosco sauce. "Excellent," Maria said with satisfaction. "And now--the maple syrup, please..." The nightmare went on and on, Jean just giving in to the inevitable.

At dinner that night, Jean had on her best black dress. This was for Scott--she would be nothing less than her most beautiful for him. She was sure he would notice. The others were in a lighthearted mood, and she felt happy. Until the spaghetti was served, that is. Maria brought out the cauldron herself, a confident smile on her face. She served everyone, looking a bit incongrous, Jean had to admit, in a blue dress. The salad and Italian bread were everything that could be desired, Jean conceded. But she winced at the thought of the spaghetti. She imagined herself having a bite of the sauce, and tasting the Bosco...

Jean looked at the spaghetti on her plate. A big plate, and enough spaghetti for three large men. She could see Maria looking at her speculatively. Well, if it had to be done... She took her fork, rolled up some of the spaghetti on it, and--smiling at Maria--took a bite.

And almost spat it out. Not because it was inedible. Precisely the opposite! She could hardly believe what her tongue was telling her, and she eagerly grabbed another mouthful on her fork. She tasted it slowly this time, the sauce combining with the sausage and pork. It just exploded on her tongue. Hot, not too hot...spicy, not too spicy...sweet, just a bit...sour, just right...all combined to create a cornucopia of taste that almost overwhelmed Jean. It was, she thought, almost like an orgasm, though in quite a different way than she had experienced the other night. She ate the spaghetti with astonishing appetite, and she looked up briefly to glance at Maria, who stuck her tongue out at her. Jean was tempted for a moment to give Maria an "accident" with her salad, but refrained--that was unworthy of her.

The others were eating the spaghetti with as much appetite as Jean--as, it was to be noticed, Maria herself did. The compliments came fast and furious.

"Who knew she could cook, too?" Warren said, a smile of genuine appreciation on his face. Bobby just nodded and asked for more, which Maria was glad to supply. Hank, Jean was amused to noticed, looked at Maria with a smile that was more than appreciative. Then she paused. Damn. Hank--he couldn't smile at Maria like that too much. The poor boy--

Enough. This was a party. The Professor was effusive in his praise for the meal, and Scott smiled tightly and agreed. Jean just smiled at Maria herself and to her horror gave out a belch. Maria laughed.

"Thanks, Jean," she said with a wicked expression on her face. "Now I know it was a good meal. The operation went pretty well, huh?"

To this, Jean could only agree.

* * *

That Tuesday, the students had a date at the Coffee-a-Go-Go for Scott's actual birthday. Maria waved them farewell from the steps of the Mansion, as Warren drove them all into the city. Jean felt bad for Maria, forced to stay behind as usual, but Maria seemed to have no regrets of her own; indeed, Jean thought, Maria had seemed unusually cheerful. As soon as Carla went home, she would have the Mansion to herself for the evening, given the Professor's absence. She promised to do some cleaning up and general housework, and Jean almost apologized to her for leaving her there alone, but refrained at the last minute. Maria, she realized, would be slightly annoyed at being reminded of something that couldn't be helped. Jean sighed as the car rolled past the Westchester countryside. What _were_ they going to do about Maria? She felt so happy--so ecstatically happy!--herself, she wanted everyone she loved to be happy, too. Somehow, she was going to make Maria Gianelli happy, whether that young lady wanted it or not.

They reached the Coffee-a-Go-Go without incident, and entered. It wasn't very crowded, though the night was still young. But it was a Tuesday, and things didn't seem to be jumping. They all found a table, and Warren discussed with the proprietor the fact of it being Scott's birthday, and whether or not the joint could produce a birthday cake later. The proprietor--a heavy-set man in his forties named Tom who was generally cool about things--thought this request a bit bourgeois, but promised to do what he could. Bernard, meanwhile, promised to write a birthday ode for Scott--"the cool thin one," as Bernard dubbed him--and went off to a corner to work on his _magnum opus_. Soon, the musicians arrived, and commenced playing. It seemed to Jean that they were just tuning up, but that, apparently, was the point of the piece. It was still early, and they were just getting warmed up, but already the atmosphere, Jean noticed with a sigh, was very typical for this place. She looked at the other _habitues_ of the place, then pondered herself. Was she really such a square? At seventeen? She hoped not...

There was a sound of a greeting, and she saw a man come over to their table. She looked closer, and realized she knew this man. He looked down at them--late fifties, a bit on the small side, grizzled gray hair and moustache, dressed informally, though not, of course, for this place.

"Mr Rexroth," Scott said, smiling. The older man shrugged. Kenneth Rexroth was a very well-known Modernist poet, almost the spiritual father of the Beat movement, and he also had practically invented the whole notion of reading poetry to jazz. Although he lived in San Francisco, he'd visit New York occasionally, and was known here at the Coffee-a-Go-Go. Jean and the others had encountered him here once or twice. He always had time to talk and listen to them. Hank, especially, seemed to fascinate him, and as he looked at Hank, Jean realized with a smile that Rexroth had heard about Hank's adventures with his bare feet.

"J Edgar Hoover?" Rexroth asked him. Hank shrugged modestly.

"Oh, my," Rexroth said. "Now _that_ must have been a happening. I'm sorry I missed it."

"I'm not," Hank said abashedly, but the others disagreed vehemently, telling Rexroth details--one more unlikely than the next--about that now-legendary evening, except that they were all true. In fact, Hank retained some of his lustre at the place even now, as an occasional _habitue_   would bow in his general direction.

"I'm interested in this school of yours," Rexroth said after awhile. "It seems awfully small. And 'gifted' youngsters?" He looked at them shrewdly. "I can see that you're all exceptional, but just how are you gifted?"

"Well, it's not by IQ," Bobby said carelessly. "That would let me out."

"Not by beauty," Hank said. " _I'd_ be forfeit on that score, alas."

"Nor for purity of heart," Warren said with a smile. "I'm out there."

"And I'm afraid I'd be scratched for social skills," Scott said with something approaching a smile. Rexroth shrugged.

"That leaves you, Jean," he said, an intrigued expression on his face. "What qualifies you for being 'gifted'? Or, like the others, _doesn't_ qualify you?"

"All," Jean said, laughing. "Or none. You're welcome to decide, Mr Rexroth."

"Hmm," Rexroth said quietly. "IQ, beauty, social skills, purity of heart--you have all those, Jean. What _don't_ you have?" he asked, hand rubbing his chin. "How about an ear for music?"

Warren laughed. "Hah! Jeannie here is an excellent amateur pianist, Mr Rexroth."

The poet's eyebrows raised. "Really? Better and better... What, then? Or do we have a paragon?"

Jean frowned--she didn't want to be anybody's paragon!--then suddenly laughed. "Of course!" he cried out. "Mr Rexroth, I have absolutely no sense of humor."

There was enthusiastic agreement with this from the others, though Rexroth didn't change expression. "I wonder," he said. "Though if you're like most women..." He shook his head. "OK, then. That's what you're all _not_   gifted at. But what _are_   you gifted at?"

"Oh, we're all-arounders," Jean said. "A sound mind in a sound body. Our specialty is omniscience." She almost leered at the older man, as though she were challenging him to guess what she was quoting from. He didn't let her down.

"I've read Sherlock Holmes too, Jean," he said softly. "Indeed, I'm something of an authority on him." He looked at all of them very thoughtfully. "But it's funny. I have the feeling that you kids _are_   educated. Not many are in this country these days, you know. Not in the true sense of the word. Education doesn't mean knowing any particular set of facts, or being able to pass tests. It means a view of the world, of being raised in a particular perspective. By this standard, an educated person would be someone like, oh I don't know--" He paused. "A Chinese Mandarin would be 'educated', by this criteria. A German Socialist tool-and-dye maker. The proverbial sturdy English Yeoman. In today's America, about the only people getting a real 'education' might be Negro middle-class clergymen--the Baptists, of course. And possibly--I say possibly--the remnants of the New England Brahmin class. Just about everyone else is the product of our modern mass factory indoctrination to the mass society, that we call education." He looked around him. "That's why I regard places like this as a blessing. They are part of the great international culture of secession against the machine, the IBM card, and the nuclear deterrent. Maybe they'll be enough to avoid disaster. I doubt it, but maybe."

Jean looked around too, wondering if this place she regarded with bemused affection really could be as significant as Rexroth suggested. "And what about us?" she gently asked. "You say _we're_   'educated', in your sense? How so, Mr Rexroth?"

He looked frustrated. "I haven't the foggiest goddam notion," he confessed. "I just know that you _are_. There's something--different--about you kids. You're being, I dunno, prepared for something. And I don't know what it is. But yes, you _do_ have that sense of 'education' I mentioned. You're being taught what's right for _you_." He looked intensely at them. "And if I knew what that 'something' was, I think I'd feel a lot better about the world and its prospects."

Jean considered this, as Rexroth soon left their table to talk with other people in the cafe. Rexroth had struck very close to the mark. They _were_ being educated in his sense--as mutants. Would he have regarded that as a class, along with his Mandarins and English Yeomen? She suspected that he would.

They ate a quiet, informal buffet-style dinner, which while delicious didn't match the sheer intensity of Maria's spaghetti. After that, the cake was produced, and to Scott's intense embarrassment the whole of the _habitue_ of the Coffee-a-Go-Go--including Rexroth--sang "Happy Birthday" to him. Bernard then read his masterpiece, and to Jean's astonishment, she more-or-less understood it. She sighed to herself. Was she really such a Philistine?

Of course, her tension was rising as the evening went on. In some sense, she hadn't been paying attention to anything else. Because, as the climax, this was The Night. After the party, she was going to take Scott off somewhere quiet. And she was going to tell her she loved him. And he, she knew, would tell her that he loved her. And her life--their lives--would really begin. Her heart was beating so fast that she had to pause, use some of the breathing exercises she had been taught. In, out...in, out...

"Jean! It _is_ you!" Jean came to with a start, and looked up. And up again. She almost gasped audibly. Because, standing over the table, was Maria Gianelli--in her "human" form. She had a smile on her face as she looked at Jean--a conspirator's smile, Jean realized immediately. Maria was wearing a stunning torquise dress that enhanced her extraordinary six-foot figure. And then Jean _did_ gasp, because Maria looked so beautiful. A massive wave of pain went through Jean for an instant--Maria _was_ so beautiful, and could only be this girl so infrequently...

Meanwhile, the boys were on their feet instantly. Except for Scott, Jean realized with disgust. She kicked his leg under the table, and that unfortunate young man clumsily got to his feet. "Uh--a friend of yours, Jean?" he asked.

Maria smiled at the boys. "Oh, yes," she said cheerfully. "I'm Anna. An old, _old_   friend of Jean's from Annandale-on-Hudson. Just visiting the city, and here she is!" She looked significantly at Jean. "I'm afraid I only have a few minutes." Jean nodded, understanding Maria's meaning. This was a hit-and-run raid on her part. Jean realized, with a smile, that Maria must have been planning this for weeks. She was determined not to miss Scott's party, and determined, too, to finally see the infamous Coffee-a-Go-Go, even if only briefly. Jean's smile grew broader.

"Good old Annandale," she said brightly. "How _is_ it these days, Anna?"

"Oh, just fine," Maria said as the boys resumed their seats. "Though there _is_ some somber news. Old Bottomley is dead. You know, the one--"

Jean broke in. "Oh, yes! Poor Mr Bottomley. I remember him. Never quite the same after he was let out of jail, but really, the salt of the earth."

Maria nodded sagely. "Oh, yes. The town will need a new supplier of his particular product, but I don't doubt but that a replacement will soon be coming. Of course, Jean, your activities in this field are still fresh in everyone's mind. Indeed, they're regarded with a certain--awe."

"Oh, Anna, I was never a patch on _you._ What you could do with a little Ready Whip--and only _two_ bandaids--"

"All _you_ needed was some A  & D ointment. And some bubble gum. Of course, it couldn't be too cold out, or--well--you know..."

"Oh, yes. But _you,_ Anna! Neither rain, nor snow, nor cold, nor gloom of night--"

"Night and day--"

"You were the one."

"But it was _you_ who managed to cover the entire varsity wrestling team. Now _that,_ I admit, was beyond _my_ capacity."

"But Anna--have you forgotten? It was _you_   who got the quarantine in place! _I_   could never have managed _that!_ "

It must be admitted that the four young men unfortunate enough to be witnesses to this touching "reunion" were getting more and more bewildered--and astonished--by the second. Jean, to her delight, was getting some amazed looks from her fellow X-Men. Finally, after a few more moments settling the imaginary affairs of Annandale-on-Hudson, it was Warren who said: "Anna? Wouldn't you like to sit down and join us?" The other boys agreed to this suggestion with alacrity--including, Jean noticed darkly, Scott. But Maria naturally refused, and indeed, said she had to be going.

Jean rose. "I need to powder my nose-- Anna? Can you come along?" Maria nodded, and the two girls retreated to the Ladies' Room.

"Maria Gianelli," Jean said as soon as the door shut, "you should be soundly spanked."

Maria leered. "Don't make promises you can't keep, Red."

Jean didn't answer, but suddenly, on impulse, she took the other girl in her arms and hugged her. "Oh, Maria--this is _so_ damned unfair."

Maria give a deep sigh, and Jean heard her laugh softly. "Life isn't fair, Jean."

"No," Jean said miserably. "No, it isn't." Then she looked the girl in the eyes--those astonishing hazel eyes. " 'Anna'?"

Maria shrugged. "My middle name. Keep it simple."

Jean nodded solemnly. " 'Anna'. I like that name." She was still looking into Maria's eyes. "So be it. When you're this girl, you're Anna. The one you're _supposed_ to be. The one you really are in your heart."

Maria looked strange. "OK, Jeannie," she said, voice husky, and Jean knew she was trying hard not to cry. "Anna it is. I'm glad--she--has a name."

"Maria?"

"Yes, Jean?"

"Someday--don't ask me how, but someday--you'll be able to be Anna whenever you want. You'll be able to become Shift when you need to--but Anna will be the real you. You can live and love." She kissed the other girl's cheek. "I swear to you that this shall happen, Maria."

And Maria Gianelli _did_ break down now. "I believe you, Jean. God knows why, but I do." She sighed, and her whole body shook. "I have to go. I'm almost about to Shift back. To my 'real' self."

""You don't think the boys recognized you?" Jean said, suddenly wondering. "I mean--the height, your hazel eyes--"

Maria laughed. "Oh God, no. They're thick as bricks. They haven't a clue, I guarantee it."

Jean nodded, still crying a little herself. "OK, Maria--I'll give your excuses. Outside the Ladies' Room is a doorway to an alley--you scoot. I'll see you later." She paused, and added-- "It's tonight, Maria. The night I tell Scott."

Maria gave a squeal of pleasure, and hugged Jean warmly. "All right! You go and be happy, Red, both of you."

"I intend to be. We both will." Maria smiled and kissed Jean's cheek once more, then the girls left the Ladies' Room, and Jean--standing lookout--watched as Maria, already Shifted back to her "normal" form, walked out into the alley. Jean went back to the table alone.

"Where's Anna?" Hank asked, looking around for her.

"She had to run," Jean said, feeling sad, happy, anticipatory, drowning in her emotions. "Did you boys like her?"

Scott smiled. "She's a bit--overwhelming."

"God, what a looker!" Bobby said. "What do they feed you gals up in Annandale, Jeannie?"

"The Food of the Gods," Warren said heartily, and the others laughed. Hank, Jean thought, looked subdued. Did he suspect--at least, on some subconscious level? The poor boy looked lost. Was he smitten? My God, Jean thought--was Maria going to end up being jealous of _herself_? And not being able to do a damned thing about it?

She paused, and took a deep breath. There was nothing she could do for Maria tonight. Whereas there was a very great deal she could do for herself--and Scott. The party was breaking up. It was time. _Happy Birthday, Scott_ , she thought determinedly.


	17. Nocturne

Chapter Seventeen

* * *

Jean watched as the cake was cleared away, and she saw Hank get up and announce his departure. He asked Bobby if he wanted to accompany him, and Bobby, who had been chatting with Zelda, turned to him and said sure, but asked Zelda if they could meet later when she was off, and she said that was a couple of hours, and Scott said they had to be back at the School by one, and so on and so forth... The upshot was that Hank and Bobby were gone soon. Warren remained, and he seemed to be waiting for something, and he looked at Jean. And she looked at him. And Warren Worthington the Third flushed to a deep crimson and hemmed and hawed, and made some excuse, and almost fled the Coffee-a-Go-Go. Scott looked slightly surprised that he had left so quickly, and seemed a bit uncomfortable.

"Well, I guess I'm heading back to the School," he said uncertainly. He looked at Jean. "Can I take you back, Jean, or do you want to stay in the city for awhile?"

Jean rose, and Scott rose with her. "Oh, I'm definitely staying in the city," Jean answered. "But so are you."

"I am?" Scott said, a bemused expression on his face.

"You certainly are," Jean said firmly, and took Scott's arm and guided him out of the club. They walked down MacDougal Street, and turned left--and east--at Bleecker Street, walking through the heart of Greenwich Village. The night was lovely--a cool early fall evening, with wisps of cloud passing over a waxing Moon. Jean felt content to let every moment, every second, pass as it would. Things would take their natural course. She had made a detailed plan as to what she was going to say--and now, at the actual moment for it all to come out, she couldn't remember a word of it. Well, maybe that was for the best.

"It's lovely, Scott, isn't it?" she finally said. "A beautiful fall night. A night full of potential and possibility. Don't you feel alive?"

Scott paused, and it seemed to Jean that when he answered, his voice was intrigued, as if he had really been listening to her. "Yes," he said after a moment. "Yes, Jean, I _do_   feel alive. Maybe it's the birthday, or--"

Jean put her finger over his mouth. "No. No 'explanations'. The fact of the matter is enough." She paused for a moment, then: " _Do_   you feel different, Scott? Being eighteen?"

Scott shrugged helplessly. "I don't know. I've never been eighteen before, Jean. I don't know how it's supposed to feel."

"Maybe," Jean said, her voice careful and balanced, "maybe you're just a little more mature. A little bit closer to being an adult. Whatever _that's_ supposed to be."

And Scott did laugh then, softly but firmly. "Oh, I know what that is, Jean. It's responsibility. I've felt the burden of that ever since the Professor made me team leader. It's like the weight of the world is on my shoulders." He looked up at the Moon, around at the slightly seedy Village neighborhood around them. "I guess turning eighteen just ratifies what's been happening in my life in recent months."

Jean nodded solemnly, and squeezed Scott's arm slightly. "You know we're all 100% behind you, Scott."

Scott's expression didn't change, but Jean could feel some of his tension relax, just a bit. "Yes, Jean. I know. I couldn't do this if I didn't know that."

They walked on, and Jean asked after a minute or so: "Scott? What do you see, when you look to the future?"

Scott didn't answer for a moment. "Why do you ask that, Jean?" he finally said.

"Because I'm young, Scott. We're _all_   young. And we have our lives ahead of us--or at least, we're supposed to." She stopped, and stepped in front of Scott and looked him right in his dark glasses. "I'm serious, Scott. Let's face it--we're _soldiers_. And we fight dangerous and deadly opponents. People who would _kill_   us if they had the chance. Magneto very nearly killed me the day we met Maria, and would have if not for her. We've all faced death as members of the X-Men. Is that what the future holds for us? To keep fighting until we die? Because the odds will catch up with us sooner or later. It will with any front-line soldier, if he's there long enough. Scott--what do you _see_ when you look into the future?"

Scott didn't answer for a long time, and Jean finally sighed and stepped back next to him, taking his arm again. They walked on.

"We're getting into the East Village," Scott finally said. "Some dangerous neighborhoods around here."

"Why, sure," Jean answered, not pressing him on her question because she knew he was thinking very seriously right now. "I'm just terrified of muggers. Aren't you?"

Scott actually laughed, a long and loud laugh--for him--that made Jean's heart sing. "Well, I guess _we_ don't have to worry too much about that."

"Damned straight, Mr Summers," she said. He grinned, and squeezed her arm.

Then: "Jean...your question is a fair one. To be honest--I _don't_   think about the future much. Or if I do, it's to wonder what I can do to be better at my job--how to make the X-Men better, more efficient. To reduce the dangers, to ensure that we _don't_ have losses. But the long run--I don't know. It all seems so up in the air. Everything. If we can just keep things together long enough, maybe the world will be a better place. Maybe the world will slowly come around to the Professor's way of thinking. And we can turn our mutant swords into plowshares."

"A worthy goal," Jean said. "And if that day ever came, Scott--while we're still young enough to enjoy it--what then? Where would Scott Summers fit into that world?"

He stopped slightly, and Jean stopped with him. She felt his tension rise again, but wasn't sure why. "That depends," he said after awhile. "Jean--I know I seem distant sometimes. But I'm afraid of my power. The rest of you aren't. You have control of it--except for Maria, maybe. And even she isn't in my situation. Jean, my power is _always_ on. I can't turn it off, or relax for a second. I'm afraid of what I might accidentally do, if I _do_ relax. The tension is always there."

Jean nodded, and took Scott's hand. "We know that, Scott. We can see that working on you, every day."

She sensed, rather than saw, Scott's flush. "Yes... And Jean, that's another reason why I can't see into the future. You ask, what would my world be like, if the world in general improved? That would depend on whether I could ever learn to control my power. If so, then maybe I could think about a normal life. But otherwise--"

Jean took a deep breath. She knew that this was as close as anyone on the team had ever been to hearing Scott bare his soul. She looked at him--and wished to God she could just stare into Scott's eyes, the way she could with any other boy. She realized with a start that she didn't even know what color they were! "I'm glad you're saying this, Scott. And that you're saying it to _me_."

"You make it easy, Jean," Scott said haltingly, and she knew that he couldn't have gone on then if his life depended on it. Jean was suddenly struck by an absolute certainty-- _Scott knew_. In that instant, and no other, he knew what Jean Grey felt about him.

"Oh, Scott!" Jean cried. "The only thing in the world I care about is making you happy. You know that, don't you?"

Scott froze. Jean just stood there, a smile on her face, feeling totally radiant. Slowly, Scott put his hand up to her cheek, and Jean took it and pressed it against her face. "I love you, Scott," she said. "And whatever happens, you're never going to be alone again. I will always be here for you. I will always be a part of you. We belong together. We're--we're--" And Jean had to stop, because she was crying, and couldn't stop crying, and she felt herself in Scott's arms and she was squeezed tightly against his shoulder, and he was breaking down, too, and they hugged and cried and said things that made no sense but were immediately understandable all the same.

Finally, Scott released Jean and stared into her face. "Jean--you're crying," he said. "Here--let me get you a Kleenex--"

Jean could have kicked him. "Oh, to hell with the Kleenex, Scott Summers!" she said, voice exultant. "Do you love me, you galoot?"

"Oh God, Jean, you have to ask?"

"Then say it!"

He smiled, and Jean thought her heart would explode. "I love you, Jean Grey," he said, very softly and clearly. "I have since the moment I first saw you. I always thought it was hopeless...but yes, oh God, Jean, of course I love you!"

The details of the kiss that followed were never entirely clear in either of their minds when they looked back on it. They just knew that it lasted for a very long time, that they were both ecstatically happy, and that they had almost forgotten where they were, who they were, what the X-Men were, what mutants were, or any irrelevant details such as that. They simply existed in that instant, a single organism, a unity in a world where time didn't exist, where past and future had no meaning. Finally, after an eternity, Scott broke it off.

"Jean--dearest--we--we have to be careful. My dark glasses--if they accidentally fell off--"

"Scott," Jean said in a dangerous tone of voice, "if you bring _that_ subject up now, you're a dead man. As it happens, I'm telekinetically holding those suckers so close to your head that a hurricane couldn't blow them off. OK? Now kiss me again!"

And he did, and it was absolutely as good as the first one, and finally they had to pause to breathe, and they parted with mutual deep breaths. Then they looked at each other, and all of a sudden they started to laugh, giggling almost like children, and Jean picked up some loose trash paper on the sidewalk and telekinetically hurled it at Scott, and he laughed and brushed it away with his hands, and they continued laughing like children, and she ran down the street and he laughed and followed her and caught up with her, and they kissed again, and finally they heard a voice coming from a window:

"Hey, youse two! If youse wanna make out, go somewhere else, OK? It sounds like a windstorm down there. I mean, we're all happy for youse two and all, but I swear I'm gonna toss a bucket of water on youse if you don't tone it down!"

"You have no romance in your soul!" Jean cried out ecstatically, but she and Scott did keep walking towards the East River, followed by a reply that yeah, I got plenty of romance, but some of us gotta sleep 'cause we work for a livin', y'know, and Scott and Jean, pitying him, walked on.

* * *

For Scott Summers, feeling his emotional barriers crumble so completely was a mystifying experience. He felt that he should make some effort to repair them, but then Jean would smile at him again, and he'd forget they existed. She'd throw scrap paper at him like it was confetti, and he'd laugh, and she'd do it again, and tell him that she was being an absolute _brat_ because there was no way on earth he could retaliate, and he said just wait and he'd think of something, and she said fat chance, and they'd laugh again and kiss again and indeed, at one point yet another poor Philistine yelled at them to cut it out and they'd move yet further east, and finally they reached the East River and the park and they had it to themselves, though by God they couldn't have cared less if the entire student body of Empire State University were watching them right then.

Scott looked at the Moon's reflection in the river, at Brooklyn peering forlornly at them across the water, and for a brief instant wondered just how long this feeling would last. But that brought time and the real world back into the equation, and that was unacceptable to him, so he just kissed Jean again, and felt her in his arms, felt her warm, wonderful body, and it occurred to him that someday--not soon, of course, but someday--that body would be as close to him as it was possible to be, and that made him happy because he knew that he had no desire whatever to spoil things by being a jerk and making any kind of issue about it. What had happened-- _was_ happening--was so wonderful that he was content to let it all wash over him like a wave. He knew on some level that sooner or later he'd worry about his power beams again, and about the possibility of hurting her, but then he'd look at the smile on her face, and say to hell with it, because that, too, was a matter for time and the real world, and neither of those things existed this night.

Sometimes they'd talk, and what they said was not unimportant-- _nothing_ that happened that night could possibly be unimportant--and they'd talk about their history, when they knew, how silly they had been in not telling each other before now, how the others had always known, how Maria knew it all at a glance, all good and necessary things for them to discuss. But it was the past and the present--never the future. For both of them, Scott, sensed, that was a taboo subject this night. This night! Scott could have cried out to that night, cried out his feelings, his joy, a joy so deep that it almost felt like grief, and he wondered briefly if the two emotions were really the same, somehow. He wanted that night to last forever, and felt that if the world ended suddenly, if they were attacked by Magneto or whomever and died, it wouldn't really matter because they were living a hundred years tonight.

How far they walked that night he was never sure of. They'd retreat back into the city, return to the river, back to the city, chasing each other and catching each other, kissing and laughing, Scott constantly dodging debris that Jean would toss, he promising a vague revenge and laughing about it, no doubt making public nuisances of themselves, but they didn't really care, and that fact of not caring felt good. Once they came across a padlocked playground, and Jean levitated them both over the fence and she sat on the swings and he pushed her until she was almost into orbit and he accused her of cheating, that she was using her telekinetic powers to get that high, and she laughed and said she was _not_   and could he prove it, hmmmm? And Scott had to admit he was stumped, and had to wait for her to slow down and finally jump off the swing before he could take her into his arms and kiss her again, to let her know what he thought of her behavior--that it was absolutely wonderful.

* * *

Jean thought she would collapse of sheer emotional exhaustion. She had no tears left, no laughter, nothing but a quiet but boundless bliss. They finally had come to rest at a bench overlooking the river, and she was leaning against him, and she came to with a start, because she had dozed off slightly. Off to the East--oh my!

"Scott!" she called out, nudging him awake. "Sott--darling," she added, almost shyly. He looked at her, and smiled.

"Yes, Jeannie?" he said, and she could sense him returning to "normal" again, and with a pang realized that this night was over, that however wonderful it would be from now on, this particular night, with its bliss and total joy, would never come again. She smiled and kissed him, and said:

"Look, Scott. The Sun is coming up."

Scott started. "My God! We've been up all night!"

"Yes, dear," she said. "Do we care?"

He laughed. "Not in the least," he said. "But after all, I did give the others a one a.m. curfew. How does it look, that _we_ ignore it?"

"The X-Men will survive," she said, purring against him. "This night was for _us_ , Scott. Whatever happens, we have this night. I'm sorry it's over--but the world would have had to come back sooner or later, anyway. But now, I can face it with a happy heart. I can face _anything_."

Scott looked at her, and stroked her hair yet again, feeling its texture, smelling it, marvelling in it. "I know, Jean," he said. "I'm getting back to normal," he said, almost ashamed. "Last night will never come again. But who we were last night--that man, that woman-- _they're_   still there. They're part of who we'll always be. And I feel blessed because of it."

They rose from the bench, and Jean took his arm again. "I know, my darling," she said. "I feel the same way. Blessed because of _you_."

"Me," Scott said almost to himself. "That I could inspire such feelings in you--I was going to make some self-deprecating comment about myself. But you know," he said, smiling at her, "I don't think I feel like doing that right now."

"My God!" Jean called out to the world at large. "Self-confidence. Is this Scott Summers, or some impostor?"

"I'm real enough," Scott said with a sudden emphasis. "I've never been _more_ real. I feel real--like myself--for the first time."

Jean leaned towards him, and gave him just a quick kiss on the cheek that somehow felt as intense as anything they had managed the night before. "I guess it's time we got home."

"I guess so," he said. "Suppose they'll be embarrassing questions for us?"

"Suppose so."

"Do you care?"

"Not a bit."

"Good. Me, neither. If you'll just accompany me, Miss Grey..."

"My honor, Mr Summers."

* * *

It was getting late in the evening, and Maria wandered listlessly around the Mansion. She had felt depressed ever since she got back. Well, she had made her little entrance, had her grandstand play, and a few chuckles with Jean. And she _was_ glad to have been able to get a look at the infamous Coffee-a-Go-Go. But her Ladies' Room talk with Jean had brought her back to reality.

She looked in a passing mirror, and suddenly stopped and made a robotic gesture. "Hel-lo-I-am-Ma-ri-a-Pi-noc-chi-o", she said in a monotone voice to her image. She moved slowly, like a puppet being pulled on strings. "If-I-wish-hard-e-nough-I-can-be-come-a-real-girl." Pinocchio, she thought. Yes, indeed. But where was her Fairy Godmother? And where was Jiminy Cricket?

At that exact moment, a cockroach walked out in front of her. Maria made a face, and stepped firmly on it, hearing the little bastard go "crack". She disgustedly kicked the dead bug under a bureau, and said in a weary voice, "you ain't exactly Jiminy, pal." As for her Fairy Godmother-- Maria laughed. Who else but Jeannie? Wasn't she made for the role? She had made a commitment that very night-- _Maria, I swear that somehow, we'll find a way to let you be 'Anna'. We'll find a way to let you live and love._

Maria walked away from the mirror. There were times she couldn't look at herself, and this was one of them. She left the Mansion, and went out to the garden to see the Moon in the sky, with puffy clouds passing over it. She walked over to the pool, and sat down in a beach chair next to it. She leaned back, and shut her eyes, and thought. _Anna_. Dammit...she was already thinking of her "human" form in just that fashion--as "Anna". And she knew that there was nothing that anyone could do for her, despite Jean's words. Jean meant well. She was totally determined. And when she spoke those words to Maria, the latter absolutely believed her. It wasn't that Jean had some gift for positive thinking, or anything as shallow as that. No. It was more that when Jean was around, somehow Maria found it possible to believe in miracles. There was a touch of the miraculous in Jean. That she was somehow able to do--or even _be_ \--things that seemed impossible. Even for other mutants.

Maria leaned back and thought logically. Was that enough to give her hope? All logic was on one side--that she, Maria Gianelli, was a bizarre freak, even by mutant standards, incapable of love or any sexual feeling whatever. That her life was destined to be what it was. A soldier, someone who could give and receive loyalty and friendship. But never love. That was fixed, and it was foolish to think it could ever be different. And what had she on the other side? The fact that Jean Grey had told her that someday, somehow, she could be a real woman. A statement with no logic whatever to it, and no basis for giving Maria the forlornest of hopes. Which reality was she going to believe in?

She laughed out loud at the night. "You win, Jeannie," she said in a delighted voice. "Someday, somehow--" Maria got up and raised her arms to the night sky. Whatever would be, would be. To her total astonishment, she _did_   feel hope. She was young. Life was long. Who could say what might happen? She laughed again. "I believe you, Jean," she said. "I'd rather be wrong with you, anyway, than be right with logic." Maria gazed south. At that instant, Jean and Scott were probably kissing passionately or some such rubbish. Whispering sweet nothings in each others ears. Maria forced herself to consider this fact with razor-like objectivity. _All right, girl--are you jealous of Jean at all for this? Is there any bitterness mixed in with your joy for her, for them?_

She walked slowly around the pool, laying out her feelings as carefully as a surgeon performing a delicate operation. She stared hard at her reflection in the moonlit water. _Christ--in that light, I_ _do_ _look like Frankenstein's Monster._ Finally, she took a deep breath. _Yes. Yes, there's just a sliver of bitterness and jealousy there. I can barely feel it--like a grain of sand at the bottom of a shoe. But that grain_ _is_ _there. This is unworthy of me. I have to root it out._ She let her mind go as blank as she could, and then tried to imagine Jean and Scott in each others arms after their long months of denying their feelings. She tried to imagine the two of them making love, getting married, becoming parents, living their lives, getting middle-aged and old...all the things real people did. All the things that she could never do. And Maria tried to consciously put a sort of "zone" around Scott and Jean--a zone of love, protection, warmth, all that Maria could find in her heart to send to them. And she realized just how much she _had_   come to love those two...Jean, of course, but Scott too, his quiet authority, the way he took so many burdens onto himself without complaining, his passion for the X-Men, the way he had made her so welcome...and of course, the way he loved Jean so totally, and--until tonight--so hopelessly...

Maria laughed once more, and threw a stone into the pool, breaking up her reflection. She felt a sheer burst of joy and love that almost frightened her. Any bitterness she felt was rooted completely out of her system. Well, what do you know. Love and joy really _were_ better than bitterness and hate. "Who'd have thunk it?" she called out to the night, and the stars and the Moon gave her her answer.

* * *

Hank, Warren and Bobby arrived home around midnight. Maria welcomed them, and asked for details about the party. To her amusement, none of them mentioned Jean's old friend "Anna" from Annandale-on-Hudson. She wasn't quite sure why--maybe they felt Maria would be jealous if they oohed and ahhed about another girl. It took them a few minutes before they realized that Scott and Jean hadn't arrived back yet.

Bobby and Hank looked puzzled. Warren, Maria noticed, seemed somber, a bit sad, and quietly very satisfied. _Why, he knows!_   Maria thought to herself.

"I wonder where Scott and Jean are," Bobby said. "Huh! It'd be something, after Pruneface lays down the law for _us_ , if _he_   breaks curfew."

"He," Maria said softly. " _And_ Jean. What does that tell you, Bobby?"

Bobby seemed to do a very elaborate double-take, and he finally whistled. "Well--I'll--be--durned..." He turned to Hank. "Hank--do you think it could be--?"

Hank looked wistful. "Happy Birthday, Scottie." The boys turned to Warren, who just shrugged.

"Guys--I think we should just go to bed. Get some sleep. They'll be home. Sooner or later."

"Yeah," Bobby said, and to Maria's pleasure, he sounded happy. The four young mutants all looked at each other, and they went to bed with smiles on their faces. Maria slept like a rock that night, and when she woke about eight the next morning felt refreshed and clear-eyed. She got up, and heard some noise...where was that coming from...?

The Danger Room. She entered, and went to the control area. Down there, Scott and Jean--in costume--were doing a routine. Maria watched carefully. It wasn't a particularly difficult or dangerous routine, but it required careful timing and exact use of their powers. They weren't talking as they went through their paces, but they moved as in a ballet, each intersecting with the other like they were one mind, one body. Maria almost gasped, the effect was so beautiful--and so choreographed, like it _was_ a ballet. Finally, the Room finished its exercise, and Scott and Jean stood there and faced each other. And embraced, kissing passionately. Maria thought the effect of kissing in their masks made it all the sweeter, and gave them sixty seconds. Those sixty seconds elapsed, and the kiss continued. Well, sweet or not, this was a bit much--

So Maria turned on the audio link, and coughed slightly. They heard her, and broke off and looked up at her. She smiled and waved her hand. "Hi, guys," she said. "A late night, I gather...you're not tired?" she said, indicating the Room.

"I've never felt less tired in my life, Maria," Jean said, and Maria felt tears coming to her eyes. Jean sounded so radiant. Scott waved carelessly.

"We're both pretty keyed up," he said, not self-conscious in the slightest. Maria felt like kissing him herself.

"I guess so," Maria said a bit archly--or at least, as archly as _she_ could get.

"I don't suppose you need any explanations," Scott said, his voice warm and just a bit conspiratorial. Maria shook her head.

"Not at all," she said. "Guys--I'm so happy for you both. I love you both. You know that."

"We know, Maria," Jean said, and if there was anything that transcended "radiant", Jean Grey was in that state right now. "And we got home, and we couldn't stop or relax. We just had to do something."

"And you're doing it very well," Maria said, and she was already on her way to the floor of the Danger Room, and when she got there she took Scott in her arms and hugged him. Then she turned to Jean, and they were in each others arms and kissing and hugging and cooing incoherently to each other. Finally, Jean laughed and broke off.

"Come on, Maria," she said, a wicked smile on her face. "I don't want Scott getting jealous." This brought a laugh from all three of them, and suddenly the rest of the team was there, too, in costume--Hank, Bobby and Warren--and they all gathered around and kissed Jean and shook Scott's hand, and Warren, especially, seemed genuinely happy. Scott got some good-natured ribbing, which he took in stride, and Hank suggested another Danger Room sequence--"in honor of our lovebirds." The others smiled, and Hank went up to the control room and returned, and from the floor of the Danger Room emerged two larger-than-life robots looking exactly like Cyclops and Marvel Girl. They came from two different sections of the Room, and as the real Cyclops and Marvel Girl watched with amazed expressions, the two robots came together and started to kiss each other.

"Our mission." Hank explained, "is to separate them. And try to get them home by one a.m. I, for one, am not sanguine about success in _this_ particular scenario--I think we're just playing with too damned much fire--"

Then Jean started to laugh, and soon she was almost bent double from sheer hilarity, but no one else offered to help because they were all in the same boat. Finally, Scott managed to ask Hank: "what the hell...?"

Hank walked back to the control panel, and the two robots split up and were sent back whence they came. Once the Room was clear again, Hank came down. "Oh, I thought that those particular robots might be needed someday," he said carelessly. "Glad to see that I was right about that. Hate to imagine all that effort going to waste--" But Hank was unable to finish his sentence, because Jean chose that moment to telekinetically raise him to the top of the Danger Room and spin him around like a top, to the delighted comments of the rest of the team. He finally was allowed back on solid ground, dizzy but unharmed.

"I suppose the rest of you knew about this little exercise?" Scott asked, and the others all shook their heads.

"Oh, no," said Bobby, and Warren and Maria likewise disavowed all knowledge of Hank's nefarious plan.

"Yeah, right," Jean said. But Maria looked so innocent that Jean couldn't act on her dark suspicions, and another burst of laughter from everyone sent them all off to breakfast together feeling happy--and very much like a team.

* * *

And somewhere, in a room lit up by computer panels and machinery, a certain figure sighed to itself. _They are so young. Has anyone ever been younger than Scott Summers and Jean Grey are, right now, in this fall of 1964? Can I remember what that was like?_   The figure looked sad. _I wish I could give them advice, warn them of what is likely to come. But no matter. At least they have each other now. That is all any of us ever has--this day, this moment._ _Carpe Diem._ _They are doing that. It might be all they ever have._

The figure went over to a pile of newspapers, government reports, intelligence agency briefings, all sorts of documents. It laughed. Some of the authors of these papers would be astonished were they to know just who was looking at them now. That thought amused the figure. But of course, there was virtually nothing it could not find out. If it wished to.

The world was moving quickly now. In Russia, Khrushchev was only weeks--perhaps even days--from being overthrown. China had just exploded its first atomic bomb. It seemed almost certain that the United States would increase its involvement in Vietnam, thereby initiating a full-scale war. A war, furthermore, that the figure felt it was certain to lose. It shook its head sorrowfully. In America itself, Goldwater was heading towards certain defeat. The Warren Report had just been published. The figure stirred; then it actually laughed. Oh, my. What would the world say, if it revealed the _real_   truth behind that little fiasco in Dallas? For a brief moment, the figure was actually tempted to do just this. Then it shook its head wistfully. It would be fun, but no. _Mind your own business_ , it said sternly to itself. Also on the domestic front, Kang had made his first appearance in this era, and been checked. For the moment. Reed Richards had defeated the Skrulls again, and was on the verge of discovering faster-than-light travel. The Negative Zone could not be far behind. And probably the Kree appearing on the scene, as well. And everything would change.

There were some consolations. Magneto and his Brotherhood seemed at loose ends. Neither the Blob nor Unus had successfully managed to join the team. And the rest of the bunch simmered with resentment. The figure thought that just maybe, Magneto had missed his chance for establishing supremacy in mutant affairs. Especially considering Maria Gianelli having joined the X-Men. She belonged there now. That was...promising.

 _And now Scott and Jean are together. Inevitable. But it leads to so much--_ The figure laughed. _Or, I should say--I_ _hope_ _it leads to so much. It should. They are the key. Or, rather,_ _she_ _is the key. Trask is about finished with his Sentinels. And that will be a terrible trial for them. But there is just a chance--_

The figure turned away from the papers and documents. The hell with them. Events were in the saddle now, and all the figure could do was ride with them. Perhaps it could survive, and fulfill its mission.

* * *

Charles Xavier returned to the Mansion Thursday evening, after dinner. He was warmly greeted by his students, but he noticed something--well, not exactly "amiss", but rather strange. He looked at them as they went through a late Danger Room session, and he was distracted by the sense of something off-kilter. The students' attention was not on their exercise. What was it on, then? He frowned, and as he watched, he noticed that Cyclops and Marvel Girl were staying closer together than usual. Often, while they would always do what they had to in order to overcome whatever obstacles the Room provided them, they would subtly _not_ notice each other. Charles of course knew that this was because of their strong--indeed, overwhelming--feelings for each other, carefully not being demonstrated. But tonight--!

And then it fell on Charles Xavier like a ton of bricks--they were staying closer together because they weren't bothering to avoid each other. He watched as they moved in sync, doing what needed to be done, and then giving each other the fleetingest of glances. He watched as the others--Angel, Iceman, Shift, Beast--moved, acted, in a way that seemed to indicate that they took something for granted, something that had not existed before.

_Well, well._

Charles smiled to himself as the Danger Room exercise wound down. So it had happened! Scott's birthday party in New York--it must have been then. Jean, of course. She had finally broken down and told him how she felt. And the poor boy wouldn't have been able to resist. Why on earth should he?

"Well done, my X-Men," Charles said when they were finished. "That is all for tonight. You'll receive your grades in the morning." They all moved off, Hank and Bobby leaving together and talking, Maria and Warren doing the same, and Scott and Jean remaining behind, almost hesitant. Charles knew what was going through their minds--should they tell him, or wait until he guessed? And how would he react to the news? Best grab the bull by the horns.

"Scott? Jean? Would the two of you meet with me in my study in a half-an-hour, please?" They nodded, and went off to grab showers and dress. Charles, feeling suddenly old--for heaven's sake, he was only thirty-four!--wheeled down to his study, realizing that somehow, in some way, he had become "the older generation".

He heard the knock on the door, and said "come in." They did, and Charles looked at them. They were holding hands, Jean wearing a blue blazer top and a black skirt, Scott in slacks and a turtleneck. They were as natural and unself-conscious, Charles thought, as Adam and Eve must have been in the Garden of Eden. He smiled to himself. Whatever happened, he was not going to be the Serpent--

"Please sit own, my children," he heard himself saying, and it struck him how odd that sounded to his ears. They did sit together on the small couch, and he adjusted his chair slightly to face them. "Scott--Jean--I just called you both 'my children'. I know that you, Jean, have parents that you love. While you, Scott, are an orphan. But in a very real sense, I do feel that you two--all of you--are my children."

Jean nodded, as if this were obvious. "Yes, Professor," she said, and Charles was so choked with emotion that he wondered if he could go on. She seemed not a girl, or for that matter a young woman, but Woman herself, a Platonic Ideal of feminity and love. She was _shining_ , a light bathing her whole being, body and soul. He cleared his throat and went on.

"But I have to be honest, my dear. Indeed, I feel that in this moment above all others, absolute honesty is required of me. Scott--Jean--you two were my first. I helped you many years ago now, Jean, before I had any idea that there would ever be an entity called the X-Men. And Scott--you were the first of the students whom I gathered to myself here at the Mansion. In many ways, I regard you two in particular as the son and daughter I will never actually have."

They were listening intently to every one of his words, and he didn't detect a flicker of tenseness or anxiety in either of them. To be so young, so absolutely sure that the world was theirs-- Charles shut his eyes, and he really _did_   wonder if he could continue. He coughed, and opened his eyes, and smiled at them.

"My dear children--I have known for some time of your feelings for each other. I see now that you two have discovered them. I could not be more delighted for you both."

Scott nodded, and Jean squeezed his hand a little harder. "Yes, sir," she said. "We're happy you approve."

 _Approve._ My God. The word seemed so inadequate to Charles that he almost laughed in the girl's face. But he just continued smiling gently, and said: "I regard you two as my heirs. Someday, if all goes well, I hope that the two of you will take over the reins here. That _you_ will carry the torch. Our fight for a world in which humans and mutants can live together in peace will not happen in a day, or a year. It might last our entire lives, in one form or another. I hope not, but it may well get worse before it gets better. I think of you two as the foundation of the X-Men, of the basis of everything that is to come. That realization did not come to me overnight, but in slow ripples of understanding, a day at a time. I hope that neither of you regards it as a burden too heavy to bear."

Scott shook his head, and said, "no, sir. It's what you've trained me for. I feel that it's my duty." And to Charles' astonishment, Scott smiled broadly. "And when did I ever shirk a duty, Professor?"

Jean's look--of love, delight, sheer _blessedness_ , to be who she was and where she was at this moment--was something which Charles Xavier was to remember for the rest of his life. "I'm ready for whatever comes, sir. We're honored by your trust in us."

"Yes," he said. "I could of course have ignored this, since it could well be argued that it isn't any of my business. But I hope you two will forgive me, for giving you my personal blessing." They both opened their mouths at the same instant, to tell him how glad they were to hear his words, then looked at each other, stammered to a stop, and laughed.

"And now that that is established," Charles said, wondering exactly how to say what he was about to say, "we need, I believe, to arrive at an understanding. First of all, make no mistake: I regard you both as adults. That's not because you've graduated, or turned eighteen--or soon shall, Jean, in your case--or any external criteria. It is simply because I have observed you both, at the School and in battle, and know you well. You have passed your baptisms of fire, in every sense of the word. Neither of you are children anymore. You will make your own decisions."

They nodded, and Charles noted that neither of them seemed tense or upset at what he was saying. My God. They _were_   innocent--almost like angels. That brought thoughts of Warren to his mind, and for a brief instant he wondered how he was taking this. With fortitude, was Charles' bet.

"Therefore, I need to establish what I regard as proper behavior here at the School for two young adults. I know how you feel about each other. I know that the intensity of those feelings is exceptional, for humans _or_ mutants. I know that the two of you are going to be together for the rest of your lives. I assume there will be a marriage one day--"

He paused, and they nodded, as if this were a matter that scarcely needed discussion. But he thought he saw in Jean's face, posture, general manner, an increase in radiancy, if that were possible. "--Quite so. Scott, Jean--" Charles sighed. "I know that sooner or later, you two are going to become intimate." There. He had said it. And their response was totally matter-of-fact, as if they indeed inhabited the Garden of Eden. Even Scott, to his surprise, didn't seem particularly embarrassed, discussing this with him. As for Jean, she might have been discussing the weather.

"Yes, sir," she said quietly. "It will probably be later. Scott and I--we're so busy exploring everything. Just talking, holding hands--" And she squeezed his hand harder, and he put her hand to his lips and kissed it-- "well, sir, _everything_ , that sex doesn't seem all that relevant. We don't _need_   it. Just his touch, the feel of him, seems like more than I can digest right now."

"And I feel absolute respect for Jean, sir," Scott said softly, looking at her. "I--neither of us--are going to rush into anything, or spoil anything."

"But don't get the wrong idea, Professor," Jean said with a soft smile. "We're passionate about each other. Believe me!"

"I totally realize that, Jean," Charles said. "And with this in mind, here is what I expect of you two. I expect you two to be discreet, especially when you are under this roof. There shall be no open cohabitating. For no other reason, Jean, I do not believe that your parents would approve of that, and I am bound to respect their wishes to some degree. When you two are...ready...will be up to you to decide. I will not be snooping. As long as you do not flaunt matters, I shall regard this issue as closed." He paused. "I expect, too, that you two will take measures to prevent pregnancy. I would be disappointed in you both, should Jean become pregnant anytime soon."

They looked at each other, and smiled. "I think that is reasonable, Professor," Jean said. "More than reasonable. Thank you."

Charles leaned back and sighed. "Scott--Jean--I must admit, I am intrigued by your relationship. From a scholarly viewpoint. We're seeing, with you two, perhaps the very first baby steps of what might be termed a 'mutant culture'. Will it be identical to human culture? Will it have a form of its own? What will be its idiosyncracies, its natural patterns? Will the relationships of other mutants follow in your footsteps? Just now, I was thinking of you two as Adam and Eve in the Garden of Eden. Well, in certain respects, you _are_ like Adam and Eve." He thought of Amelia Voght for a second, then shook his head briskly. "There have been other mutant relationships before yours. But there is something almost primal in your youth and innocence. Those other relationships came before the whole idea of 'mutants' was really clarified, in a sense. But now, we are all starting fresh. It is like the first days of the world. And you two are the pioneers in that world."

It was Scott, Charles noted with amusement, who seemed to take this speech more seriously. He flushed, and looked humbled. Perhaps it was simply that Jean's smile, her intensity of joy, could not have been any greater than it already was. "Yes, sir," Scott said. He looked at Jean. "Adam and Eve, huh?" He turned to Charles. "Does that mean we don't have to wear clothes, sir?"

All three laughed, and Charles sorrowfully shook his head. "The world isn't _that_ new, my boy," he said. "So--we are agreed on the ground rules?"

"We are, sir," Scott said, standing up and shaking Charles' hand. Jean came over and hugged and kissed him, and Charles was left alone, feeling more blessed than any man--or mutant--deserved to be.

* * *

Eric Magnus Lehnsherr was sitting in his laboratory complex, his helmet off, doing, of all things, a chess problem. He wished very much that someone in the Brotherhood was a capable player. Wyngarde had made an effort, to please him, but was so bad at the game that Eric just sighed after awhile and dismissed him. Pietro might have been a capable player, but announced haughtily that it was a childish waste of time. Wanda had no interest whatever in the game. And of course, he didn't even consider Toynbee.

He looked at a rook menacing a bishop, and thought about Charles. _He_ had been a capable opponent. And Eric was virtually certain that Charles had never read his mind. They had split their games about evenly. Eric had a more aggressive opening, but in development Charles was masterful. And as for the endgame--

_Well, old friend, we'll see about that, won't we?_

He had always thought that the great game he and the X-Men were playing could only have one ending. But now, he wondered if a stalemate wasn't likelier. Perhaps--and he could not believe he was entertaining this thought for one second--even desirable. That meeting he had had... He shook his head, wishing very much he could discount it. But his--host--was a factor that simply could not be ignored. The very existence of this figure put everything he believed into question. It could of course be a trap for him. But somehow, he didn't think so. No--that figure was sincere, if anyone ever was. The question was, did its sincerity mean it was right?

Eric stood up and walked heavily around his lab. He thought about the girl, Maria Gianelli. (And he wondered if _she_ could be a capable chess opponent for him. He would have bet everything she would.) Her presence unquestionably pushed the mutant balance-of-power against him. If the Brotherhood was to remain relevant, he would have to recruit. He sighed. Well, that was easier said than done. But there were possibilities...

Enough. He sat down again, and picked up the Black Queen, thinking of Marvel Girl. On the whole, he was glad he hadn't killed her, that day months ago when the X-Men recruited Maria. _Shift._ He had read the newspapers, and laughed at the name. But Jean Grey--why did she remind him so irresistibly of Wanda, at times? Not in terms of powers, but as people, as young women? They seemed at first glance to have nothing in common. In any event, he had made a mistake, trying to kill Jean. Killing a fellow mutant should be a last resort, and not a first. He certainly had been...over-impetuous...regarding the X-Men. No doubt about it--his visit to the figure _was_ changing him. He wondered what Charles would say, if he knew where his--Eric's--thinking was going these days...

There was a sound from the door, and Eric looked up to see Wanda standing there. He rose, and beckoned her in. "Yes, my dear?" he asked.

She looked at the chess board, and let her gaze wander around the laboratory. "It is not easy to say this, Magneto--" she said hesitantly. Eric merely waited, and Wanda went on.

"Magneto--I feel that something has changed. Oh, not in me. Or in Pietro. Or in Mastermind--he is as disgusting as ever. And not in that pig, the Toad. But in _you_. You seem distracted. As if you knew something you were not telling us."

Eric smiled. "I know much that you do not know, Wanda. That is the burden of leadership."

She waved a hand wearily. "Oh yes, I know all that, Magneto. But I mean something new. As if something has happened. " She looked at him--almost beseechingly, Eric thought. "Magneto--it has been a long time since we saw any action. That sense of _urgency_   we used to have seems gone. I am not complaining--I approve of the change. The others are puzzled. In fact, I am basically here on their behalf, as a sort of deputation. We are wondering--has our purpose changed? What is the goal of the Brotherhood these days, Magneto?"

Eric considered this. He _had_   changed, because until very recently he would have exploded in anger at the very idea of anyone questioning him about anything. "Wanda," he said carefully, "it is possible that something _has_   changed. I say, 'possible'. I have had new circumstances to consider. I am still wondering what those new circumstances mean. I cannot go into detail at this time. But we have been relatively inactive for a reason, I can tell you that." He paused. "And given the new strength of the X-Men--this girl, this Shift, is immensely more powerful than any other mutant, except for me of course--I have been treading carefully. We need to augment our strength. I should say that we are in a _de facto_   truce with the X-Men. And as long as that state of affairs exists, I do not see any ambitious plans being hatched on our part."

She nodded. "Very well, Magneto. As I said--I approve the change. I do not feel terrified all the time. That is a good feeling." She looked at him. "Oh, I know that you regard that feeling of mine--the constant fear--as a weakness on my part. Perhaps it is. But even as a practical matter, if one is thinking of fear, one cannot think of anything else. Including your job." She walked to the door. "I shall convey your message to the others."

Eric sat back in his chair and sighed. Perhaps he should not have said that--it might give an impression of weakness. But with this group, that really didn't matter. Mastermind could not challenge him, Wanda didn't want to, Pietro lacked the power to, and the Toad was a non-entity. He smiled to himself. Maria Gianelli--if _she_ had joined the Brotherhood, as he had wanted, she would have had the will and the power to challenge him. That would have been most intriguing, to see that. He wondered, could she have come remotely close to succeeding? He laughed out loud. Asking that question was to answer it. But still, it would have been...intriguing.


	18. A Part of the Story

Chapter Eighteen

* * *

Maria looked up at the Moon. Walking the grounds of the estate, she felt happy in a way she had never quite experienced before. Scott and Jean continued to act as if they had invented love. And as far as Maria knew, maybe they _had-_ -at least as far as mutants went. And who knew but that "love" for mutants wouldn't be something totally new in the world? Maria certainly felt joy every time she saw them together. It was a remarkable thing, but she was finding that joy worked on itself--the more you saw it and experienced it, the more there seemed to be.

She stopped dead. _My love for thee is as boundless as the ocean--the more I give thee, the more I have, for both are infinite._ Juliet, talking to Romeo. Maria found tears welling up in her eyes. Those words could have been said by Jean Grey to Scott Summers. Oh well--maybe mutants _hadn't_   invented a new kind of love, after all. Unless Old Will had been a mutant. She laughed. She'd have to talk to the Professor about _that_ possibility...

A shadow swooped over the Moon, a close shadow, and before she could get her bearings the Angel landed next to her. "Evening, Maria," Warren said. He wasn't wearing his mask tonight, and Maria thought he looked a little tired. Maybe it was an emotional reaction. They were all having them this past week, and it made sense to Maria that Warren's might be especially strong.

"Hey, Warren" she said, voice as gentle as she could make it. "Getting some night air?"

"You might say so," he answered. "Feel like a little spin?"

"Sure," she answered. They hadn't flown together since before Scott's birthday, and as Maria, in her eagle form, soared into the sky she forget everything else for the moment and just concentrated on the experience. She and Warren headed out over the Hudson, then north as far as Bear Mountain, then slowly flew back towards the School. Maria was very careful these days never to push her limits, so as not to be caught up in mid-air Shifting back.

It had been a good outing--the Moon, the clear cool fall air, and Warren. Maria felt the peculiar intensity he could sometimes generate. They hugged after they landed, as they always did, sharing a joy of their own and basking in the friendship that had sprung up between them. Warren seemed reluctant to depart, and Maria waited, knowing there was something on his mind.

"Maria--" he asked slowly, and she nodded.

"Yes, Warren?"

He looked pensive. "Why am I so happy right now?"

Maria could have hugged him again. The hell with it. She _did_   hug him again. "Because the girl you love is happy. And you realize that by letting her go to be happy, you've shown your love for her as nothing else could have. And that makes _you_ happy." She paused slightly. "It all makes sense to me."

Warren looked at her for a moment. Maria was trying hard not to laugh, and she could see Warren trying even harder not to laugh. And then they both lost the fight, because they started to laugh, and once they started they couldn't stop for quite a while. Finally Maria took Warren by the arm and they walked out through a glade of trees into a stretch of the long back yard of the estate.

"Warren," she said, "I know it must hurt like hell to be told just how noble you are--"

"Oh, no," he said, mouth twisted into a crooked smile. "I _love_ being told how goddam noble I am."

"OK, Blondie," she said. "You're too noble for words. But seriously--you _are_ taking this well." She paused, thought for a second, then told Warren something of what she had been feeling earlier, including the Shakespeare quote. "Don't you feel it, Warren? That something _special_   is happening?"

He looked right into her eyes, and nodded. "Oh, sure I do, Maria. Jean is--I don't know," he said, sighing and running his hand through his hair. "She seems at times to _be_ love itself, personified, rather than a girl _being_ in love. Do you get what I mean?"

"Totally," Maria said, taking Warren's hand as they walked.

"-Yeah...and since I _do_   love her, you can get some idea of what I'm going through. And yet, I don't have any bitterness about it. No, really. There's something about all this-- Maria, this is going to sound silly, but I get the feeling that we're living in some kind of story. Do you ever feel that way?"

Maria shivered to herself. She knew exactly what Warren was talking about. "Yeah, I think so. The world we live in, with its gods and monsters--and mutants. It's all so _new_. And we're so young. Let's face it--we're in the middle of a drama. No one knows how it's going to turn out. But there's--I don't know--"

Warren pressed Maria's hand. "There's so much ahead of us. The story has barely begun. Don't you feel that?"

"Yes," Maria said. "Oh, yes, Warren. That's _exactly_   it. I know I'm young and romantic, but we live in romantic times, and let's face it--to be an X-Man is to be a romantic."

Warren laughed softly. "I do like the way you put things, Maria. Hank might have said what you just did--but he'd take three times the words, and still not put it as well as you do. Indeed, babe. Being an X-Men is romantic. And such a _privilege_."

Maria nodded. "Oh, yes. I've felt that so strongly ever since I came here. Despite--everything."

Warren looked shrewdly at her. "You mean the Madwoman in the Attic bit?"

Maria laughed again. "Yeah, I guess so." She was glad that none of the boys had guessed about "Anna". She would have felt humiliated, especially when they realized why "Anna" could only make infrequent appearances. She was beginning to regret her little stunt.

Warren looked pensive. "Ever read the Arthurian legends, Maria?"

Maria didn't seem surprised by the question. "Of course."

"Then you know what I'm talking about if I say--oh, I know this is silly! But I feel sometimes that being an X-Man is almost like being one of the Round Table. That we're part of legendary events. That what we do will be _remembered_."

"It's not silly in the least," Maria said, all the warmth she could get in her voice. "I feel just the same way. We're part of history, Warren. And we _will_   be remembered." They walked a few paces, and Maria asked: "And just whom did you see yourself as?"

Warren stopped, and laughed. "OK, OK! I guess I saw myself as the Hero. With the Heroine by my side. But as it turns out--"

"You're Lancelot," Maria said with a wicked grin.

Warren looked sober. "I guess so. But there isn't going to be a repetition of what happened between him and Guinevere."

"No," Maria said, her voice sober as well. "I know _that_ , Warren." She thought before she spoke. "But tell me--why is Jean 'Guinevere'? Don't you think it's just possible that she might be 'Arthur'?"

"Jeannie?" Warren said, genuinely surprised. He looked carefully at Maria. "What do you mean?"

"I mean, what if Jean is the 'Hero' of the story? What if things turn out to be about _her_? Don't you ever feel that, Warren? I do."

Warren considered this. "You mean--she's the central character of our little drama? And what would that make Scott?"

"Her consort," Maria said simply. "The one who loves her, but who can't ultimately determine her fate. Because she's destined for certain things, and nothing anyone else can do can sway that destiny."

Warren frowned. "I'm not sure I like the way this is going, Maria-- Are you saying that this story is a tragedy? With an unhappy ending?"

"Aren't all the great stories, Warren? I mean, really? At heart?"

He looked very unhappy indeed right then. "I don't want to be part of a tragedy, Maria."

"Sometimes our roles are written for us, Warren."

He shook his head. "No, Maria. No, I don't believe _that_. We have free will. We can create our futures. We can make a happy ending of our saga. We can. We must."

Maria sighed. "I hope so, Warren. But maybe it's like _The Lord of the Rings_ \--evil will be averted, good triumphs--but a price will be paid. A terrible price, one that leaves the survivors bereft even in the world that the Hero has saved."

"I don't like that ending," he said, dissatisfied. "There has to be _some_   way for the Hero and Heroine to have a happy ending."

"Maybe," Maria said. "Maybe in the very long run of things. Maybe even in some context out of the story altogether, in some inconceivable way the characters can't imagine." She paused. "But the great stories _are_ sad ones, Warren. We have to be prepared for that--we members of the Round Table, who love the Hero and would die for him--or her. But who just might be the ones left on the stage at the end, who have to carry on."

"Maybe," Warren said. "But that doesn't really affect anything, does it? We have to carry on anyway. Do our jobs, _as if_   there will be a happy ending. And always remember, just being part of the Round Table _is_ a great privilege. To be a part of the Story."

"Absolutely!" Maria cried out. "And we _will_ have a happy ending, in the end. I hereby declare it! Maybe it will come only after long sadness and tragedy--when everything has been thought lost for a long time. And then, the Hero will rise again and evil and death will finally be defeated." She looked Warren right in the face. "If we just hang in there--have faith--that can all be, Warren. And having you along for the ride is just one of the perks, Blondie."

Warren almost bust a gut, he laughed so hard. "Have it your way! I formally declare our tale to have a happy ending, Lady Maria!"

"Agreed, Sir Warren!" And she kissed Warren on the cheek, and the two young people entered the Mansion laughing as if they didn't have a care in the world.

* * *

Frank Gianelli was sitting at the bar of a seedy hotel on east Sixty-Eighth Street. There was nothing particularly unusual in that fact, these days. Ever since he had gotten his assignment from Jonah, it seemed to Frank that he was spending his entire life in cheap bars. He certainly wasn't spending it on his "assignment". What was there to do? Write a story exposing his own sister? That wasn't even a possibility. So, he spent his time drinking up the money he was taking from Jonah under false pretenses. There was a good chance, he thought, that he was on the road to becoming a full-fledged alcoholic. Maybe _that_   was the best thing that could happen to him. He'd be fired for being a lush, and get out of the impossible trap he was in.

But God help him, his conscience wouldn't permit him to avoid work completely. So he had actually sent out feelers, trying to get contacts with the mutant community, such as that was. While of course he wouldn't write anything about Maria, despite Jameson's orders, he might stumble upon something else. Something he could pass off to Jonah as an acceptable substitute for the story he was supposed to write. And maybe Jameson would accept this and forget about Maria.

As a result, he was waiting in this particular seedy hotel bar, so indistinguishable from the hundred others in New York that he had become so well-acquainted with. Waiting for a connection he had made with a friend-of-a-friend. A connection who was very cautious indeed, who had given Frank elaborate instructions to make sure he hadn't been followed on his way to this fleabag. Frank had done as instructed, intrigued enough by the precautions to wonder if he was possibly onto something.

He looked around. He had been told that he would be contacted. The _habitues_ of the bar--the bored hooker, waiting for someone to pick her up. The older man, fairly well-dressed, W.C. Fields nose--businessman on the way down, becoming a drunk. A pair of homosexuals in the corner, looking as if they expected the bartender to kick them out. Some college kids with fake I.D.s. Nothing out of the ordinary...

"Mr Gianelli." Frank started; he hadn't even noticed the man coming up to him. He took a good look at the newcomer. Blond, not unhandsome, in his thirties. A sense of power in reserve that impressed Frank. This guy was no slouch, whoever he was. Frank nodded.

"You're the gentleman I'm here to meet?"

The man nodded, and said quietly: "My name is Donald Pierce. I am a businessman. The exact nature of my business does not concern you, Mr Gianelli. Suffice it to say, money is not my object in approaching you, if you had any concerns upon that score. I could buy and sell your Mr Jameson a dozen times over."

Frank considered this. He believed what the man was saying. He had "money" written all over him. "Very well, Mr Pierce. Then may I ask the purpose of the meeting?"

Pierce nodded. "Certainly. Have you ever heard of the Hellfire Club?"

Frank pondered this. "I think so," he said. "A social organization, big bucks, secretive members? Yeah, I've heard of it."

Pierce nodded. "Excellent, Mr Gianelli. Then I don't have to waste any more time than is necessary. I am myself a member of this club. I was invited to join, and was initiated recently."

Frank frowned. "Isn't telling me that violating your oath of initiation, or something? Don't you people swear secrecy?"

Pierce shrugged. "Well, Mr Gianelli, I have found that most oaths have--loopholes. I feel that I can speak with you in confidence, with a clear conscience."

"Fine," Frank said. "You are a member of the Hellfire Club. How does this concern me?"

Pierce looked directly into Frank's eyes. "The head of the Club's Inner Circle is a man named Buckman, Mr Gianelli. And Mr Buckman hates mutants very much indeed."

Frank played with his drink. "Is that a fact, Mr Pierce?"

"It is," Pierce said flatly. "And as a result, he has heavily invested the Club--in money and prestige--in the schemes of a man named Trask. Have you ever heard of him, Mr Gianelli? Bolivar Trask?"

Frank thought. "Yeah, I think so," he said. "Some sort of inventor? Sold some prototype robots to IBM for a zillion dollars?"

"That's the man," Pierce said darkly. "But he has...progressed. He is building serious robots now, Mr Gianelli. He calls them 'Sentinels'. And they are prepared with one purpose in mind--genocide. Trask intends to use them to exterminate mutants. All of them."

Frank whistled. "You mean to say that the government is going to let him get away with that?"

"Oh, he isn't telling the government," Pierce said with a trace of humor. "He just tells _them_   that these Sentinels are a fail-safe, in case the 'mutant problem' gets out of hand. At most, they will capture the mutants and round them up into concentration camps. Though needless to say, he doesn't use the _term_ 'concentration camp'. Heavens, that would never do! The government therefore keeps its skirts clean, and Trask can focus on his true goal, which, as I said, is genocide." Pierce looked around him, and seemed satisfied that no one was listening to them. "Mr Gianelli--I do not, at least at this time, want Trask's plan to succeed. He will not be ready for some months yet to unleash these Sentinels upon a breathless world. In that window, we must act."

Frank nodded in seeming understanding. "Fine, Mr Pierce. Might I inquire as to _why_ you don't want this plan to succeed?"

Pierce looked pained. "You may, Mr Gianelli--if you can accept a brief answer. I am in business with certain mutants. Mutants who are just beginning--as I am--to climb the ranks to the summit of wealth and power. And mutants, I might add, who have recently--again, as have I--become members of the Hellfire Club."

"I see," Frank said, and he thought that he _did_   see. "And it would be bad for business if--"

Pierce made a gesture with his hand. "--If this damnfool Trask kills all the mutants. And make no mistake, Mr Gianelli, that is his ultimate goal. In the process, he would kill my partners as well. That would cost me a great deal of money." Pierce gave Frank a challenging look. "I certainly would not want you to think that I was approaching you for any altruistic reasons."

Frank nodded understandingly. "Of course not, Mr Pierce."

"Indeed," Pierce said darkly. "I have no particular concern if mutants live or die. But I have a great deal of concern about my money. And right now, I need the mutants. Mr Buckman--the head of the Hellfire Club--likes to amuse himself by seeming to accept mutants socially. While, of course, preparing the way for their slaughter. He really _enjoys_ contemplating his partnership with Trask, Mr Gianelli."

"Ummm." Frank was silent for a moment. "Just how do _you_ know all this, Mr Pierce?"

Pierce smiled tightly. "Oh, any information can be found if you're willing to pay for it. I am willing. And I have a broker of information, a man who prefers anonymity at least for now, who can provide anyone with information if you can pay his quite outrageously high prices."

"OK, Mr Pierce," Frank said, feeling a little flabbergasted. By God, he had actually walked right into a real story, despite his best efforts not to! "Just what do you want _me_ to do?"

"I want you to investigate this, Mr Gianelli," Pierce said. "Trask. The Sentinels. Try to expose him if you can. The public, whatever they think of mutants, would be squeamish about genocide. Get proof of Trask, his Sentinels, his intentions. Force the government to act. Jameson is a known civil libertarian. He would support you. Rake the muck, Mr Gianelli, rake the muck! That's what reporters do. That's what _you're_ doing now, in your investigation of mutants. Is it not?"

Frank nodded, feeling a bit lost. My God, but that _was_ what he was trying to do, wasn't it? He was indeed on the track of a major story here. This could make Foswell and his old-fashioned Capone-style Syndicate sem like small potatoes, indeed.

"OK, Mr Pierce," he said to the other man. "Where do I start? Can you give me a lead?"

"I can," Pierce said, taking a card from his wallet. "Here is the man whom I mentioned--my information broker. Start with him. Tell him I sent you. I believe he can start you on the right path."

Frank looked at the card. It said merely, "Wilson Fisk, Importer", with an address underneath it. He looked up to speak further to Pierce, but his source was gone. Frank blinked. That was quick--

_Well, what do you know. I get to play Boy Reporter again, for real._

* * *

"Today's test is to see how you would react to a situation in which the rest of the team is incapacitated, and you two have to fight off a hostile intruder while protecting your fellow X-Men." Professor Xavier was speaking to Beast and Shift from the control panel, and the others were up there with him, watching with interest. Hank McCoy looked at the scenario playing around him. There was a computer simulation of a mountain scene, and an actual large metal prop that was lying on its side.

"Your teammates are inside the ship," the Professor went on. "It doesn't look exactly like the _Blackbird_ , but for the sake of the lesson, that is what it is. You know only that they are injured, and need medical attention as soon as possible. You are miles from any civilization. And the attacker is coming to finish the team off. You two are all that is standing between your teammates and destruction, and you must not only defend them against your enemy, but find a way to get help to them. Any questions?"

"Yes, Professor," Maria said. "I assume that 'help' means _any_ help? That we're not worrying about running into anti-mutant zealots, or our secret identities, or anything else?"

There was a pause. "--Yes, Shift, I believe that is a fair assumption. You find help any way you can" He paused, then added: "This is a subtle exercise, Shift, Beast. You might think that it isn't something that the Danger Room can properly simulate. Well, there is a reason for that. There _is_ an optimum solution to this scenario, which it is up to you two to discover. You have five minutes."

Hank looked at the "ship". Since his teammates actually weren't inside, feigning "injury", but were watching from the control area, even considering the mock ship was a waste of time. He turned to Shift.

"Could you assume your eagle form and fly up, looking around the area to seek help?"

Shift nodded. "Of course, Beast."

"Then do so." And he had that sense of awe that he always felt--that all of them felt, he could tell by glancing at the others up in the control panel--whenever they saw Maria adopt her eagle guise. Soon, she was flying around the roof of the room, and it occurred to Hank that he hadn't the slightest idea what she was supposed to be looking for. Had the Professor rigged the room to leave some "civilization" for her to discover? He looked around, and didn't see anything. Slowly, reluctantly, Maria returned to the solid floor of the Danger Room and Shifted back to normal.

"There doesn't appear to be anything, Beast," she said, and gave the Professor what Hank thought was very nearly a dirty look. As much as saying to him, "you're not playing fair, sir!" Hank secretly agreed with this assessment of the test, which seemed to him not so much "subtle" as "impossible". But soldier on, my boy--the Professor _always_ knew what he was doing.

Suddenly, a figure appeared among them. It hadn't been there a moment before; and then it was. Hank was astonished, until he recognized the attacker as a replica of the Vanisher. How had the Professor managed to get this robot--for such it was, as Hank saw as he looked closely at it--to just _appear_ in their midst? Did the robot have the Vanisher's powers of teleportation?

Then Hank noticed some gleaming light being reflected off the walls of the Room, and he realized that it was some sort of optic trick. The robot had approached them via a "blind spot" in their vision which the Professor had taken advantage of. Meanwhile, the robot had "disappeared" again, to "materialize" next to the " _Blackbird_ ".

"The others, Beast!" Shift called out to him. "They're in danger!" Hank nodded, and leapt at the Vanisher-robot outside the ship. Once more, he "vanished"--to appear next to Shift. She took a swing at him, and he vanished again to appear at the far end of the room.

Hank cursed to himself. The five minutes were moving swiftly, and the Vanisher robot could do this all day. Meanwhile, his teammates in the ship weren't any closer to getting any help. He suddenly had an idea. "Shift!" he called out. "Your most flexible form! Stretch your arms out, and fan through the Room! You'll run into him eventually!" Shift smiled, as she saw what he was planning. She Shifted into a tall, almost willowy form with rubbery-like appendages. She expanded her arms, her hands... Soon, her appendages were covering almost the entire Danger Room, and it wasn't long before they were surrounding a figure that she and the Beast couldn't see, but which she very definitely was touching.

"Got him!" she called out, and Shifted back to normal and collected the robot in her spread-out hands. The Beast jumped over and threw himself onto the Vanisher-robot's back. "Disappear anywhere you wish to now, my jaunting friend," Hank said with satisfaction. And indeed, the robot did "vanish"--but when he reappeared, there was the Beast still on his back. This happened two or three times, and then the Professor's voice broke in.

"Excellent, Beast, Shift," he said, and suddenly the computer simulation itself vanished. "In real combat, the Vanisher would have to either yield, or vanish back to civilization--with the Beast on his back the whole way," the Professor said. "I indicated that this test was subtle, and this was why. The successful plan you two carried out was the _only_   way to end this scenario. It doesn't bring aid in and of itself to your fellow X-Men, but it _is_   the only action you could have taken which makes such aid a possibility." He paused a moment. "I admit, it could be considered 'cheating' that the scenario does not allow for Shift's eagle form to find and bring aid--but I did not want that to be a factor in this test. You had to use the Vanisher's strengths against him--and this you two did, with great skill and to great effect. You still had an entire minute and twenty-eight seconds to go. _Very_ well done, both of you. Maria--this is by far the highest grade you have received in the Danger Room so far."

"Thank you, sir," she said softly, and Hank could swear that she was flushed with excitement, if any of her facial expressions could be said to be open to his interpretation. For a minute, Hank forgot everything else in his sheer admiration for this girl. And, he said wonderingly to himself, for his sheer fascination--one might even, he thought with interest, use the word "obsession"--with her astonishing ugliness, which as time passed he more and more saw as beauty. A beauty totally different from Jean's, but just as real. Everything about Maria--her toughness, and her vulnerability, her absolute loyalty to all of them, her real joy in the happiness Jean and Scott had found, her remarkable knowledge of all sorts of subjects, combined with her equally remarkable ignorance of certain things everyone took for granted, and her desire to learn everything she could--all of this, and so much more, overwhelmed him. And that _beauty_   that was so totally her own, and which he wondered why everyone didn't see. All of this had hit Hank McCoy hard, and every day he was more and more convinced that if he wasn't in love with Maria Gianelli then he didn't know what love was, and never would.

It was later, and Maria and Hank were in the living room together, studying mathematics. Hank was trying to tell her about Godel's Law, and its implications. They had recently been studying Russell and Whitehead's _Principia Mathematica_ , and their attempts to put all math on a sound logical basis. Godel, Hank explained, had set off a bomb under _that_ , and he found that Maria understood the implications of what Godel was saying despite her being very sketchy so far as to the actual math. Hank had to remind himself that Maria was accustomed to philosophy and logic--my God, she had read the whole of Aquinas, after all! But she remained something of a polymath, and her lightning-like flashes of intuition weren't always braced by the foundations of learning. But she was desperately eager to learn all she could, and Hank found her an amazingly quick study in almost any subject he raised with her.

"Hank--" Maria said slowly, and he nodded at her to go on.

"Do you think there's a pun in Godel's name?"

"Hmmm? How's that?"

"Well--'Godel'. 'God' 'Of God'. 'Waiting For Godel'. You get what I'm saying-- God having his little joke with us, with our logical positivists, sending us Mr Godel to remind us that _we_ can't outguess _Him_."

Hank considered this, then laughed. "I wouldn't let Dr Asimov hear you say that, Maria. I can just imagine what he would say."

To Hank's astonishment, Maria gave a short and very pungent description as to exactly what Dr Asimov could do. It was so graphic, yet so sweet, in a way he couldn't have described, that he couldn't help himself--he burst out laughing. "Maria!" he cried. "My dear partneress-in-logical-crime, don't let the Professor hear you say _that_!"

"If you say so," Maria said wearily. "The hell with it... I'm tired." She stood up. "I'm sick of math for now. Unless you want to talk about Fermat's Last Theorem?"

Hank looked distinctly unenthusiastic. "Not particularly."

"--Fair enough." She came over and pecked Hank's cheek. "Good night, Hank."

"Good night, Maria." Hank just sat there and rubbed his cheek where she had kissed him. There hadn't been anything romantic about that kiss in the least, and he didn't pretend that there was. Maria had never for a second acted as if she regarded him that way. But he let a wave of sheer emotion wash over him. He felt exhausted, as though he had been in the Danger Room for an hour. Being around Maria, he thought, was getting more bracing by the day. Well, Holy Hanna. If Scott and Jean could finally break the ice--why not he and Maria? He had told the Professor that he wasn't going to stand around like a wooden Indian, keeping his feelings inside. And yet, wasn't that just what he was doing?

Unsure of his ground, Hank McCoy left the living room, feeling good about life all the same.

* * *

Scott lay back in his bed, eyes shut, trying again for some sleep that didn't seem to want to come tonight. Oh well... He opened his eyes, knowing when he was defeated. It still puzzled him as to why he didn't simply blow his eyelids off every time he shut his eyes. The Professor had explained carefully to him how he was immune to his own blasts, but Scott could never quite understand this. If he could blow a hole in a Sherman Tank, how could he _not_ blast through a thin layer of skin? Forget it, he decided, with his usual pragmatism. Just be grateful for the fact. A strange thought came to him--was his brother Alex a mutant? Would he ever see his brother again, and find out? Only the Professor knew about Alex, and Scott was determined to keep it that way until the day came when he'd be reunited with his brother.

He got out of bed and went to the window, looking out over the estate. He was dressed only in a pajama bottom. Well, Scotty, it was no good, was it? He smiled to himself. Thoughts of Jean kept him from sleeping. Her eyes, her voice, her astonishing hair, how sweet her lips had turned out to be, even sweeter than he had always imagined them... And she loved _him_. This was so amazing that he felt its strangeness, every minute of the day--and the night, he sighed to himself. Someday, she would be with him during the night--they would share it, conquer it, make it their own, as they were beginning to do the day. _My God--Jean loves me_.

"Penny for your thoughts, Slim?" Scott turned to the doorway, and his breath stopped. There she was, slowly walking into the room, a gentle, almost shy, smile on her face. She had on a sheer pale green negligee of some very light material, and--apart from a pair of panties--nothing else. She stopped in the middle of the room, and raised her arms above her head. "Do I please you, Scott?"

"Please me?" he was somehow able to say. He took a step towards her, and started laughing, slowly, softly, but with increasing force. "Jean--if there was ever an Oscar for understatement, you've won it." He took yet another step, and took her outstretched hand.

"Don't worry, Scott," Jean said, her voice a purr. "I'm not trying to seduce you. At least--not _tonight_ , I'm not." She brought his hand to her lips, and he felt the gooseflesh rising all over his body, as it did now every time he felt her touch. She looked into his eyes, and he cursed his visor, cursed not being able to show her his real eyes as she deserved to see them. He tried to open his mouth, though what he was going to say he couldn't imagine--to apologize to her for his eyes? The very thought made him laugh, and he found he couldn't talk anyway. Jean seemed to sense this, because she suddenly wrapped him in her arms, and stroked his hair and squeezed his shoulders, and she was in his arms and he was kissing her eyebrows, her hair, her nose, and finally her lips, those sweet lips that got more luscious every time he tasted them, and he knew that they would just keep getting better and better as she grew up and became a woman instead of a girl, but by God she _was_ a woman, he felt that fact so clearly in his arms, her breasts pressed hard against him, her lips devouring his, her tongue deep inside his mouth, her voice crying and moaning, his hands squeezing her hard against him, rubbing her back, and finally he couldn't help himself, his hands pressed firmly against her bottom, squeezing her to death as their kisses got more and more passionate--

Finally he broke off, gasped. "Jean--please. My dark glasses--they can't fall off--"

The mood changed very quickly, as she glared at him. "We have had this discussion before, Scott Summers," she said, with a severity that Scott decided wasn't entirely assumed. "I assure you that your glasses are being held telekinetically so close right now that a hydrogen bomb couldn't pry them loose."

Scott smiled weakly. "Okay, Jean. I believe that." He paused, and added seriously: "But Jean--I was drowning. I--we-- _have_ to take this a step at a time, slowly, because I'd break apart if we didn't."

Jean looked serious as well. "Oh, Scott, I know, darling. It's like I told the Professor--what's happening now is so intense that I need to deal with _that_ , before anything else can happen." She looked into his visor. "Was this too much for tonight, Scott?"

He paused, smiled. "No, Jean. Not quite."

"Good." She indicated the bed. "Lay down, Scott."

Scott did so without hesitation. He looked up at this girl--woman, he reminded himself--whom he loved so totally that he almost felt it as another system of his body--breathing, eating, walking, sleeping, loving Jean. Suddenly, he found himself floating a few feet above the bed, and he cried out.

"Jean--what--?"

"Hush, my darling," Jean said quietly. She moved forward and used her telekinetic power against his prone and floating form, rubbing _those_ muscles just so...and those other ones, yes, just right...and he realized, with intense pleasure, that she wasn't avoiding the area six inches below his waistline. Indeed, far from it... It was a combination of massage and sexual yoga, and Scott was a little shocked Jean seemed to know it so well. "Have you had practice doing this?" he asked with a smile, and she shook her head.

"No, Scott. I'm just winging this."

"Well, then, you're a natural," he said with a laugh, and she telekinetically squeezed the tenderest spot on his body just a trifle too hard, and he yelped, though he followed it with a laugh that she joined in.

"I have ways of making you toe the line," she said with a slight leer, and Scott, as he slowly sank back to the bed, made an elaborate gesture of surrender.

"It's settled, then," he said hopelessly. "I'm your slave." He thought for a moment. "There are worse fates."

"You bet there are, Mr Summers!" she said enthusiastically, then her expression changed. "Oh, Scott--! I'm sorry. It's one thing to use my power to give you pleasure, but if I start abusing it, even in fun, like now... I'm afraid of what might happen. I might become a real bitch." She looked down at him, and smiled shyly. "Am I forgiven?"

"There's nothing to forgive, Jean," he said as warmly as he knew how, which must have been pretty warm at that because she suddenly lay down and snuggled herself into his arms, the crook of his neck, molding herself to his form as he lay there. Her lips ranged over his arms, his chest, his neck, his chin, his cheek, before finding their natural home on his own lips. Her hands ranged over his stomach, chest, hair. He reciprocated as best he could, feeling like he was on the edge of the abyss physically and emotionally, afraid of tumbling over and yet not afraid of it either. Finally, they broke apart and she looked at him with ecstasy in her eyes.

"Darling," she said, her alto voice husky and reaching some level that he didn't know a voice could reach--somewhere beyond what a great actress or opera singer could discover. Scott shivered in sheer awe. Jean was a force of nature, something he couldn't imagine. She took his hand and gently brought it to her cheek. He rubbed it against the contours of her skin, feeling every pore, every inch of smoothness. Then she giggled softly, and to Scott's astonishment--and delight--she took his hand and placed it upon her breast.

"Does that feel right, Scott?" she asked shyly, and he couldn't speak, he just nodded and she sensed the tears in his eyes, because she pressed his hand even more firmly against her breast and kissed him so tenderly he thought his whole body and spirit would just break apart into their component pieces.

"Oh, Jean--Jean--Jean--" he couldn't speak, nor remain silent, just shuddered and tried calling her name as her tears flowed openly and unashamedly. Finally, she gave out a moan and lay back, exhausted and limp, and Scott realized that she had had an orgasm. He relaxed at that, realizing that he not only hadn't had one himself but didn't need to this night. Just the fact of her being here, of her being _her_ , who and what she was, made everything else irrelevant. He didn't feel frustrated or physically uncomfortable, in his groin area or anywhere else. He just felt content and totally masculine.

Jean was sobbing against his chest, and he wrapped his arms around her and kissed her and comforted her as best he could. Finally she looked at him, her eyes opening and Scott, looking into those green depths, couldn't have spoken if his life depended upon it.

"I love you, Scott," Jean said, with the total honesty and simplicity of her nature. He stroked her hair and nodded.

"I love you, Jean," he was finally able to say.

She smiled. "Did you like the feel of my breast in your hand, Scott?"

"You know I did," he answered, and she hugged him ecstatically.

"How did it feel to your touch, Scott?" she asked softly.

He shook his head. "I can hardly tell, Jean. It felt so soft--and yet firm. Your nipple was large and hard--and yet so tender..." He paused, feeling confused. "It's hard to say."

"You're doing fine!" she called out ecstatically. They remained as they were for a few more moments, then Jean slipped out of the bed. "I've reached my level, Scott. That intensity level-- I have to go back to my room, I'm afraid. I have to digest all this."

"I know," he said regretfully. "But some day, Jean--"

"Some day," she said, kissing him as he lay there, "we'll be together--night and day. Some day, Scott, I'll be a woman--totally a woman. And you will have made me one. Someday, Scott, we'll make a baby together--not for many years, but it will happen. And there is nothing in the world that I want more." She rubbed his chin, his cheek. "We have so much to do, to be, to live. Tonight was a blessing, Scott. You'll sleep now." And she was out of the room, and Scott was indeed asleep almost immediately. His sleep was so deep it might as well have been a little death, and he didn't dream.

* * *

That same night in Dallas, Texas, the man known as Forge hadn't slept either, but for quite different reasons than Scott. He was working, and when he was working he might forget about sleep for days on end. Eventually, he would realize that he was exhausted and couldn't continue without some rest, and he'd collapse until his body had caught up, and then the cycle would begin again. How long this would go on depended on the task, and the intensity with which he was approaching it.

For the current job--the one that Mr Handy had promised him ten million dollars for--he had almost forgotten what the word "rest" meant. He had given Handy an almost boastful time frame--six weeks. He intended to meet that deadline. And he felt he was on the right track. How _did_ one steal powers from a mutant, even for a brief period of time? The answer was DNA. This was still regarded as a sort of toy, something that would have real-world practical value "someday", but nothing that could be utilized yet. Forge knew that this was not true. He had been studying DNA ever since it had been discovered by Watson and Crick, when he was still in high school. And he knew what could be done with it.

He moved to a certain section of his main laboratory. There, he had a large apparatus and some hapless lab rats. _Sorry, boys_ he thought with a mental shrug as one of the rats was placed in a glass cubicle within the apparatus. Another rat was placed in another cubicle, to the right of the first rat. Forge looked at them, and turned the apparaus on, feeling--with a burst of sheer pleasure--exactly like Dr Frankenstein. There was a green light that pervaded the first rat's cubicle, and the rat shrieked, struggled to its feet and stood up as high as it could reach, as if to escape the rays that were enveloping its body. Then Forge pulled another switch, and a similar green ray went through the second rat's cubicle. After a few moments, he turned the apparatus off and examined the rats.

It was as he feared--the first rat was dead. Well, that wasn't unexpected by now, he thought with a shrug. It had been a particularly large and strong rat, and the second had been small and weak. But he turned to the second rat--

Forge smiled. _Eureka!_ The second rat's body mass was almost doubled from what it had been before the experiment. Forge made elaborate measurements of the rat's mass, size, the strength tests he put it through. There could be no doubt. He had done it! He had switched DNA between the first rat and the second.

He shut his eyes for a moment, and looked at the rat again. It was twitching, and Forge knew this to be a key part of the test--it had to survive, or else everything so far was wasted effort. Already the rat was morphing back into its original form. That was fine--all Forge was trying to do was a temporary power siphoning, anyway. He looked hard at the rat, and it twitched some more and came to rest on the bottom of the cubicle. But it was still breathing, still alive! Forge gave the rat some food and water, and it ate and drank, then shrunk into a corner of the cubicle and slept. Forge watched it for awhile, triumphant. It was still alive!

This had been a big step forward. The transference process _could_ be done, and the recipient could accept the power bestowed upon it, and still remain alive. This hadn't happened before. Of course, in a literal sense, the recipient rat hadn't had its DNA altered. Rather, Forge had made a sort of biological matrix in which the original DNA had been "masked" by the donor's. The effect was the same. For a short time, the recipient rat had the physical attributes of the donor rat.

Of course, the donor rats still died. Forge paused. How much of a priority was it to make sure this didn't happen with Marvel Girl? Did Mr Handy's client regard this as an issue at all? Did Forge himself have any qualms about the matter? He sighed. He supposed so. She was a fellow mutant, after all. It wouldn't hurt to keep experimenting, in any event. Maybe he could find a way to keep the donor rat alive. If the deadline approached and he still wasn't any further along on a solution to this particular problem--

Forge shook his head, wishing this wasn't an issue at all. But he supposed it would have to be. Still--sacrifices were often made in the march of science. He would regret it if Marvel Girl--and a possible second mutant; he couldn't forget he had promised Mr Handy he'd be able to leech the DNA of _two_ mutants--had to die in the process. But just maybe, it couldn't be avoided.

Forge went to a small refrigerator, opened it and looked at a small metal box within. Inside that box was a sample of the DNA of a certain Jean Grey--Marvel Girl. He smiled to himself. How Xavier would react, if he knew how Forge had gotten the sample! Well, that was his secret. Also in the box were samples of Hank McCoy, Bobby Drake, Warren Worthington, Maria Gianelli, Scott Summers--and Xavier himself. And, to Forge's great satisfaction, samples of Eric Magnus Lehnsherr, Jason Wyngarde, Mortimer Toynbee, Wanda and Pietro Maximoff, Fred Dukes, Gunthar Unuscione, and Carmella Unuscione. And--to be fair--a sample of his own DNA. He laughed out loud. If only Magneto and Xavier knew about _this!_   They might just overcome their differences long enough to come here to Dallas and lay siege to Eagle Plaza. Well, this was his secret, and his secret it would remain. Meanwhile, he had made a big step forward this night.

 _I do believe I shall make my deadline,_ he thought with satisfaction. _I really should find a way for poor Miss Grey to survive..._


	19. Executive Decision

Chapter Nineteen

* * *

Lyndon Baines Johnson was fuming. Not because he was being kept waiting, though by God he was the ferChrist'ssake President of these goddam pissing United States of America. It was because he didn't want to have to make the decision that this upcoming meeting was going to _force_   him to make. No matter what he did, it was sure to be wrong. That was the basic fact of being President--everything you did was wrong. If you stood up to the Commies in that goddam shit patty Vietnam, you were a warmonger. If you didn't, you were an appeaser. Well, he'd have to decide about that soon after his election. _Thank God, there's no doubt about how_ _that_ _is going to go. Goldwater couldn't be a fucking worse candidate if he was trying to throw the damned election._

But this _was_   getting to be too much. Even if it was fucking Mr Wizard Reed Richards, you didn't keep the President of the United States waiting. The hell with it. He marched himself to the White House Situation Room, and if Dr Reed Richards deigned to join them, he was goddam welcome to. He opened the door, and everyone around the small table immediately rose to their feet. There were four men and one woman, and he nodded at them to sit down.

Just as he went to his seat at the head of the table, Richards entered the room and apologized for being late. "My deepest regrets, Mr President," he said, looking harried. "It simply couldn't be helped." Johnson glared at him a little, then just grunted and indicated the seat to his right. Richards sat down, and Johnson was relieved to see that he was dressed like a goddam real person in suit and tie instead of coming in that pansy blue costume of his. He looked around the table. To his left was none other than Anthony Stark, glamor boy inventor and, supposedly, screwer of more women even than his illustrious predecessor in this office, John Fitzgerald Kennedy himself. That is, if such a thing was humanly possible. Though come to think of it, Edgar over at the FBI had indicated that Stark's womanizing had been cut way down ever since a visit to Vietnam awhile back. There was supposedly something about an injury... _Wonder if he got his balls shot off. Wouldn't_ _that_ _be a neat irony?_   After Stark was a young blond man, Dr Henry Pym, and thank the Godalmighty _he_ wasn't in _his_   pansy little red costume, either. He could turn himself into someone the size of an ant--or become twelve-fucking-feet tall. _I wonder if his dick changes in proportion to his goddam sizes._ Across the table from Johnson was Agent Fred Duncan of the FBI, quiet, reliable and professional. Johnson liked men who knew their jobs and their places. He had met Duncan before, and liked him. And they both shared a secret that Lyndon Baines Johnson had no goddam intention of sharing with anyone else at this table--the real nature of Charles Xavier, and his School for Gifted Youngsters. Especially with the man on Duncan's left, Bolivar Trask, crazy inventor. But however crazy he was, he was the real goods, all right, and it was really Trask who was responsible for this little gathering. After him came the woman, Dr Raven Darkholme. Technically she was Assistant Chief of the Pentagon Ordnance Department. But in fact, she seemed to have her hooks into the whole fucking government, as Johnson was astonished to discover when he had Edgar run a check on her. If it had anything to do with American military hardware or space technology, the Darkholme woman knew all there was to know about it. She was increasingly making herself indispensable to the whole goddam Military Industrial Complex of these here United States, and thus, essential to this meeting. Then there was Richards, looking as goddam infallible as ever. Johnson shut his eyes in sheer animal jealousy and frustration, thinking about _his_ \--Richards'--pecker. In common with every other male on the goddam planet, he thought sourly to himself. Forget it--think about something else. Those little green men. My God. "Skrulls"! Real, honest-to-pissing-Christ aliens. As if there wasn't enough on his, Lyndon Baines Johnson's, plate.

He cleared his throat. "All right, everyone. I'm much obliged to you all for coming. The subject of this meeting is mutants. Who they are, what they are, whether they're a menace to national security, and what can be done about them, if anything." He turned to Richards. "Dr Richards--perhaps you'd start us off. What do we know about mutants? Why they're comin' along right at this point in history? Anything there you can enlighten us about?

Richards cleared his throat, and said in his clear baritone: "Mr President, fellow panel members, there is some evidence that what we call 'mutants' have actually been around since the beginning of humanity in its current form. This calls into question much of current evolutionary theory, if true--"

Johnson held up his hand. He had been worried about this--too many lectures. "If you please, Dr Richards. I'm not too concerned bout the history of evolutionary theory right now, y'understand. What I'm wonderin' about is, why now? _Is_   there a speed-up goin' on in our generation, and if so, what's the reason for it? Radiation? But some mutants were born long before Hiroshima."

Richards nodded. "Of course, Mr President. There seems to be little doubt but that radiation _is_ a causal factor in the explosion of mutation we're seeing in the world right now. It can't be a coincidence that this has happened since 1945. Of course, a few mutants--such as Magneto--were born before then. But the rate of change..." Richards looked unhappy, as he always did when he didn't have definite answers to a scientific question. "Well, _something_ in the environment is causing mutations to explode. Atomic radiation is by far the easiest answer as to 'what'."

Johnson grunted. "Dr Pym?" he said, turning to the blond young man. "Have you anything to add?"

Henry Pym ran his hand through his hair, and looked like a caricature of an absent-minded professor. "Mr President, I think it's safe to say that _either_ radiation is responsible, or there is some factor totally outside our current scientific understanding. I suspect that there's some truth to both theories. The radiation, in and of itself, might cause mutations. But to have them come in such prolific forms, such a wild variety--frankly, sir, that's why I wonder if there isn't something like Einstein's so-called 'Hidden Variable' he thought was behind quantum physics. A 'Hidden Variable' of biology. Something we haven't even suspected yet."

Johnson felt his insides churn. These goddam scientists! They wouldn't give you a straight answer to save their asses. "Dr Pym--'Hidden Variables' are all very well, but they don't seem to me to be gettin' us very far."

Pym flushed. "No, sir," he said. "But you can't theorize without data, and we just don't _have_   much data yet about this."

Johnson heard Agent Duncan cough lightly, and he turned his head to the man in relief. "Yes, Agent Duncan?" he said almost gratefully. "You have something to contribute?"

"Yes, sir, I believe I do," Duncan said. "The Bureau has resources of its own in this matter--" Johnson smiled to himself. He meant that they had goddam Charles Xavier in their pocket, and no one knew more about mutants than chromedome did. Johnson had almost asked him to this meeting, but thought the presence of Trask might make that iffy. He didn't know how much Trask knew, or could figure out, and Johnson certainly didn't want a confrontation between him and a mutant distracting matters. "--and based on those sources, we feel that radiation, combined with genetic traits that have long been inherent in _homo sapiens_ , but dormant, is adequate to explain the explosion of mutation."

Johnson saw an interested look come over Richards' face, and by God, he thought he just might know why. He spoke up before Richards did. "You mean, Agent Duncan, that the explosion of mutation has something to do with the process that made Dr Richards here, and his friends, become the Fantastic Four?"

Duncan nodded, and he had the rapt attention of the entire table. "Yes, sir, that's exactly what I'm saying. That's certainly what our--sources--think. That the cosmic radiation that triggered the changes in the physiology of Dr Richards and his associates is correlated--we won't say 'connected'--to the process that produces mutants. As to how this could happen, no one is sure yet. There are various theories, including--" Duncan coughed, and looked respectfully at Pym-- "variations of the 'Hidden Biological Variable'--which is really a fancy way of saying, 'your guess is as good as mine'. But the similarities between the origin of the Fantastic Four, and the emergence of mutants, seem to be more than coincidence."

Johnson turned to Richards. "Do you concur with this, Dr Richards?"

Reed Richards shrugged. "It _could_   be, Mr President. My own researches on the changes in our biological state since our flight seem to indicate that those changes are more of a matter of kind than degree--that is, we _have_ changed in fundamental ways. How close those changes are to the differences between humans and mutants, I couldn't say without more data."

Christ, Johnson said to himself in disgust. More ass-covering, more double-talk. He turned to Stark. "Anthony, have you anything to add to the discussion?"

Stark smiled carefully. "Well, sir, biology isn't really my _forte_. I'm inclined to take the word of Drs Pym and Richards. However--if you're asking me whether or not the FF have become something other than _homo sapiens_ , I should say definitely 'no'. While they may have changed in fundamental aspects, as Reed here says, I'd bet that that's more of a change within a spectrum, than breaking out into another spectrum altogether."

Johnson's heart sank. More double-talk. "Thank you, Mr Stark," he said glumly. He finally turned his attention to Bolivar Trask. "Well, Dr Trask, how about you? I know something about your unique approach as to what we should _do_. But before we get to that--what's your opinion as to the sorts of questions we've been asking here?"

Trask smiled, and Johnson didn't like that smile. It had the look of a True Believer's smile. He had better keep this man on a tight leash. "Mr President, I think we are making this overly complicated. It doesn't _matter_   where the mutants came from, or whether or not they emerged because of a 'Hidden Biological Variable', with all respect to Dr Pym here. What matters is that they _exist_. And whether or not the Fantastic Four have any connection to mutations--and I should be very surprised if that was the case--they are an anomaly, not something that can be expected to recur. But mutants _can_ be expected to recur--and indeed, are recurring, are growing almost daily. _That_   is the problem we face, Mr President, esteemed panel, and it is the _only_ problem we face."

"All right," Johnson said almost to himself. Trask may be a lunatic, but at least there was no shilly-shallying about him. He gave you a straight answer, and that was a relief. "All right," he repeated, in a stronger voice this time. "Then the question becomes: are they a threat? Just what needs to be _done_ about mutants, if anything?" He looked around the table. "Anyone?"

Tony Stark coughed, and said evenly: "Mr President, I would suggest letting events take their course, at least for now. What's happening is a natural process, like a baby being born. I don't think it should either be hurried, or aborted. And I don't think it _can_   be."

Reed Richards nodded. "I think Tony is exactly right, sir. There is no need to hurry into any precipate action. There certainly is no crisis situation."

"No crisis?" the voice of Bolivar Trask was quiet, almost too goddam quiet for Johnson's taste. But the entire table turned to him, almost reluctantly, Johnson thought. "No crisis? When we have Magneto, the most powerful mutant on earth, invading US military bases? Indeed, entire nations, as he did recently in Central America? If these actions are not declarations of war, what on earth are they?"

Richards' mouth grew tight. "They are not essentially different from the actions of Prince Namor, when his armies occupied several world cities last year until he was driven back into the sea. Or the actions of Victor von Doom, who has blatantly abused his authority as the head of an independent state to use Latveria as a base for aggression against the rest of the world. Well, Dr Trask, Namor is an Atlantean. And von Doom is a human being. Do we take their actions as being representative of _their_   races?"

Trask waved a hand. "Irrelevant, Dr Richards. There have always been international gangsters--Napoleon, Hitler, Stalin. The normal rules of international conduct--and defense--can be applied to them, and have been. But mutants are different. Their numbers are growing. Their existence is a threat--an existential threat--to humanity itself. They are more like the existence of nuclear weapons. Either we do away with them, or they do away with us."

Pym frowned. "Oh? And what of the X-Men, Dr Trask? They fought Magneto when he attacked Cape Citadel, and they have fought Magneto's Brotherhood on numerous occasions when they have attempted aggression. I can say, as a member of the Avengers, that I regard the X-Men as comrades-in-arms. Are _they_   included in your 'mutant menace', Doctor?"

Trask looked sarcastic. "Ah yes, the 'good mutants'. I'm delighted to see that you have some, Dr Pym."

Henry Pym, Johnson thought, looked like he was about to explode. "That was uncalled for, Dr Trask," was all he said. Johnson put his hand up.

"I'm inclined to agree, Dr Trask. People--including mutants--are innocent until proven guilty. And the X-Men have done this country great service,."

Trask leaned back in his chair. "Of course, Mr President."

"But you _do_ have a point, nonetheless, Doctor. Magneto _exists_. So-called 'evil mutants'--they _exist_. Well, we have the good old FF and Avengers--" he gave appreciative smiles to Richards and Pym, who nodded back at him-- "to deal with them when they get out of line. And yes, we have the X-Men, too. But more mutant nightmares are likely to come. Is it really unreasonable for the US government to have some sort of defense against evil mutants?" He emphasized the word "evil" slightly, and Trask seemed to catch it, because Johnson saw the man nod. _But the sonuvabitch isn't convinced. He's tricky, planning something._

Stark shrugged. "Well, sir, when you put it like that..."

Agent Duncan said, "I'd say, sir, that having some sort of defense makes sense. As long as it _is_   only directed against the right targets." And he looked at Trask significantly.

Pym looked unhappy. "This sounds like the beginnings of a pogrom, Mr President. Any 'defense' is inevitably going to become something more sinister, sir. If history tells us anything, it's that."

Richards nodded. "I agree, sir. I think the structures we have in place--the FF, the Avengers, the X-Men, the military--are more than adequate. I might say, sir, that my own contacts with the X-Men leave me in no doubt whatsoever about their good intentions."

Trask looked annoyed. "Even if what you say about the X-Men _is_ true, Dr Richards, it doesn't matter. What matters is that the mutant population is going to keep growing. Faster and faster. Even if only ten percent of them are menaces--and I think that is a very conservative estimate--think of what that means. The sheer _numbers_   they represent. And it will only get worse. Eventually, the force of those numbers will make the mutants the dominant species. Unless we act."

"Ah," Johnson said. " 'Act'. Now we come down to it, Dr Trask. Just what do you mean, 'act'?"

Trask was very silent for a moment, then spoke in a clear voice. "I mean, sir, that humanity should create a defense against mutants. One that will act as our last line of defense. Mr President--I am prepared to tell you, today, as we speak, that I have been working on this problem for some time. And that my labors are not far from bearing fruit."

There was a hush at the table. "The hell you say," Stark said after a few moments.

"I _do_   say, Mr Stark. I am within sight of completing my project."

More silence. "Could you elaborate on that, Dr Trask?" Johnson asked. Trask smiled grimly.

"Mr President--fellow panelists--I have been working on a race of robots. I call them 'Sentinels'. Their goal is to protect _homo sapiens_   from so-called _homo superior_. And I assure you, they are capable of doing just that."

The table exploded into pandemonium--all of them, Johnson noted, except Dr Darkholme. He frowned. Come to think of it, she hadn't opened her mouth yet. Why on Earth not--?

It was finally Richards who spoke up over the others. "Fod God's sake, man--do you have any idea of the forces you're playing with? And just who appointed _you_ judge, jury and executioner?"

Trask looked at Richards coolly. "I have an excellent idea of the 'forces' I'm playing with, Dr Richards--I should, since I created those forces. As for who appointed me--well, just who do I have to be? I am a concerned citizen--a _human_ citizen, trying to protect my fellow humans. And as far as being judge, jury and executioner is concerned--well, if I was being all _that_ , I would not be here, discussing the matter with the President. I should simply be holed up, awaiting the final completion of my work and getting ready to unleash my Sentinels against the mutants of the world. But here I am." He looked at Johnson. "Well, Mr President? What do you think of my idea?"

Johnson shut his eyes. Here it came, the decision he had been hoping he could put off, at least for today. He opened his eyes and turned, finally, to Raven Darkholme. "How about you, Doctor? You haven't been very voluble today."

She smiled tightly, and Johnson felt like she was shooting a goddam laser beam right through him. "Mr President--distinguished fellow panelists--I have been silent because I can hardly believe my ears. The nation that has a massive nuclear arsenal, _and_   the Fantastic Four, _and_   the Avengers, _and_ the X-Men, is going to seriously build--and deploy--a race of genocidal robots, because of a _potential_   threat?" She turned to Trask. "And please, Dr Trask, let's have no nonsense about how the Sentinels are going to 'protect' humanity. The goal of these things is the extermination of mutants. Is it not?"

Trask's lips tightened. "I have nothing in mind but protection, Dr Darkholme. But if the mutants attack humanity wholesale--well, in that case, if it becomes them or us, I prefer the survivors to be us."

Johnson sighed. There it was. And here was his decision. Well--let's put it off for one more moment. He turned to Stark. "Anthony--do you believe, as an inventor, that these 'Sentinels' can be built, and do what Trask thinks they can do?"

Stark, Johnson thought, looked unhappy. "Mr President, if I can build my Iron Man armor for my bodyguard, I see no reason why Dr Trask can't build these robots. If von Doom can build robots, somebody else can. Yes sir, I think he can do it."

Johnson turned to Darkholme. "And you, Doctor? As the expert on this? Forget whether we _should_. _Can_ we build these things? Is Trask here talking through his hat?"

Raven Darkholme smiled sardonically. "Oh, yes, sir. They can be built, all right. I have no doubts about _that_   at all."

"All right, then." Johnson turned to Trask. "Dr Trask--if I give this project of yours a final approval, I want there to be no mistake. _I_ shall determine when and if these 'Sentinels' are ever deployed, and how they will be deployed. I will tolerate no genocidal actions. They'll do what I tell 'em to, when I tell 'em to do it. That is understood, correct?"

Trask, Johnson thought, looked like the cat who had swallowed the canary. "That goes without saying, Mr President."

"Very well. On that basis, Dr Trask, I authorize you to continue your work on the Sentinels. I do not see that having these things in reserve--under constitutionally-mandated authority--is, in and of itself, a bad thing. Whether or not the Magnetos out there should exist, the fact of the matter is that they _do_   exist. And my basic duty is to protect the American people." He turned to the panel. "All of you--I appreciate your presence here today. This has been a very difficult decision, and I greatly appreciate everyone's input."

The meeting broke up, and soon after the President of the United States found himself back in the Oval Office, awaiting his next appointment. He leaned back, took some deep breaths. He felt deeply troubled. If there was anything he knew, it was men. And he knew that Bolivar Trask was lying through his goddam motherfucking teeth when he said that he, Lyndon Baines Johnson, would have final authority over the Sentinels. Trask was going to try some end run around him when the time came. Well, as long as he knew, Johnson could be prepared. And these things just might be needed someday. He hoped not. But he couldn't depend on his hopes.

 _Funny thing. That Darkholme woman. I couldn't read her at all. She's a deep one. She has some agenda of_ _her_ _own. I wonder what it is._ Scowling, Johnson leaned back in his chair. Maybe he could get a few winks before his next meeting.

* * *

Maria was balancing herself on Bobby's ice slide as they travelled over the East Side, just north of the UN building. They had had little action lately, and the Professor thought they needed to let off some steam and cut loose. Also, there were rumors of Brotherhood activity in the city, and that at least was an excuse to go prowling for awhile. Maria in particular--for obvious reasons--was glad to get out of the confines of the estate, and breath some clean, fresh air.

 _Or at least different air,_ she thought with a hint of disgust. The air over Manhattan couldn't really be described as "clean" or "fresh", could it? She rode Bobby's slide almost like the pictures of surfers she had seen. She leaned forward, and yelled to Bobby, "hey! Wanna see me hang ten?"

Iceman looked back and laughed. "I'd like to see that! Want me to ramp it up a bit?"

"You bet!" And so, the ice slide got steeper and slicker, and Maria's speed increased as she dug down to hang onto her perch. They slowly veered west towards Central Park, where the whole team would assemble together. A very steep drop, with Maria still hanging onto the slide for dear life. Finally, she had to laugh and confess defeat. "I'm about to fall off into Fifty-Second Street, Bobby! And I'd make a big hole!"

"Ah--quitter!" he said exultantly, and slowed down, Maria hanging onto the sides of the slide, kneeling low. Finally he landed on the corner of Fifty-Second and Fifth, within sight of the Park. "I'm pretty bushed myself," he confessed. "If I may, my lady--?" He put his arm out for Maria, which she accepted. They slowly walked up Fifth Avenue, attracting a crowd as they went.

"Hey, look--it's Iceman!" came shouts, especially from children.

"To hell with him--look, it's _Shift_! You can get two Icemen for one Shift!" And kids crowded around Maria, peppering her with questions, asking for autographs, touching her skin--few children were brave enough to try that with Iceman--with even a couple of cameras appearing to take their picture.

"Hey!" Maria cried out. "Don't you guys know that we mutants don't come out in photographs?"

There were some dubious looks from the children on receiving this intelligence, but then one called out: "No, that's wrong! It's _vampires_   that can't be photographed!" That brought with it a yell of agreement, and Maria shrugged.

"I could have sworn it was mutants," she said. "You sure?"

"Look!" One of the children said, and produced a picture from his automatic that, indeed, showed Bobby and Maria walking down Fifth Avenue together.

"Well, what do you know!" Maria cried out. "At least this proves that _we're_ not vampires, Iceman!"

"I had had my doubts," Bobby said wryly. "This reassures me."

"You bet... And thanks!" she called out to the young photographer. "But look out--I'm known to break camera lenses."

There were more dubious looks about this, but the children finally decided--properly--that Shift was just putting them on. One of them asked: "Shift? Is it true what you told the _Daily Bugle-_ -that J Jonah Jameson pretends to hate super-heroes so much because _he_ is secretly a mutant himself?"

Bobby gave Maria a stern look, and she gulped. "Well, if it was in the paper, it has to be true, doesn't it?"

The children's faces looked thoughtful, and several of them nodded. One, though--and Maria secretly blessed him--shook his head.

"My parents say that you don't always tell the exact truth, Shift."

"Well, you should _always_   believe your parents, young man. They're much more trustworthy than the newspapers are."

The boy walked off, looking satisfied with this answer. Bobby and Maria entered the Park, and their peanut gallery melted away. Bobby laughed out loud.

"I think that Jameson rumor is damned hysterical," he said.

"Well, that was more than the Professor felt," she said. "He wasn't amused."

"Maybe not with _you_ ," Bobby said. "He laughed about it with _us_ , though."

"He did?" Maria said, smiling. "Thanks, Bobby--that makes me feel better." They crossed the Children's Zoo, rubberneckers gawking as they passed. Soon they were in the giant lawn area, the skyscrapers hugging the Park surrounding them. "Look!" Iceman called out, pointing his finger skyward.

Above them the Angel was criss-crossing the Park, swooping down here, soaring over the trees there. Finally he saw them and headed in their direction.

"Iceman, Shift," he said cheerfully. "See anything?"

"Nothing more than a few jaywalkers," Bobby said. "And we didn't feel that they were worth incurring the mighty wrath of the X-Men."

Angel nodded. "That's pretty much how it is with all of us today--not a peep. Certainly nothing out of the Brotherhood." He looked thoughtful. "Come to think of it--just where _is_ the Brotherhood these days? Maggie and Company seem to be keeping a pretty low profile."

"As are we," Jean said, walking up to them from the north. Cyclops and the Beast were on her heels. "I was actually hoping for some action. But nothing!" Jean turned to Cyclops. "Any suggestions, Cyclops? Before we all break down with rust?"

Cyclops shrugged. "Not really, Marvel Girl." He turned to Shift. "Unless we want to risk taking a pass by the _Bugle_   building." The others laughed, and Maria joined them.

"Sure," she said. "If Spider-Man makes Jameson faint, imagine what _we_   could do to his blood pressure."

The Beast looked dubious. "I think the Professor would say that we've affected Mr Jameson's blood pressure enough for the nonce, Cyclops."

"What do you mean, 'we', Paleface?" the Angel said, and the team all laughed again. They spent some time wandering through the Park, none of them, especially Maria, wanting to return to the Mansion right away. Eventually, though, evening fell and the day's excursion was over. As Warren drove them slowly up the Taconic River Parkway, Maria looked out gratefully at the passing landscape. She almost--not quite, but almost--felt nostalgia for her years of wandering, for the days of Torches and Pitchforks. Then she looked at her teammates, and thanked God for the life she had now. To have loyalties and obligations made her feel--and she almost laughed as she thought of the word--"human".

* * *

"Mr Fisk will see you now," the young secretary told Frank Gianelli. He smiled at her, and rose from his seat to enter a surprisingly modest office. Modest, at least, for Wilson Fisk. Frank hadn't learned much about the mysterious Mr Fisk these past couple of weeks. No one seemed very willing to talk about him much. And that, Frank had no doubt, was how Fisk wanted it. He seemed to prefer the shadows. He never made public appearances, lived out of the spotlight. But there was one thing that Frank Gianelli already knew with absolute certainty--Wilson Fisk was one of the wealthiest and most powerful men in the city. Hell, in the nation. Ostensibly, he was an importer of spices. According to Pierce, he was an "information broker". Well, no doubt he was both of those things. But what he really was, Frank couldn't put his mind around yet. Maybe this meeting would give him a slightly better idea of whom he was dealing with.

Frank looked at the man sitting across the desk. He was prepared for what he was seeing--but no preparation could make one ready for the reality of Wilson Fisk. It wasn't that he was tall, or massive, or strong--although he was of course all these things. Frank guessed that he was a good six feet six at least, and must have weighed well over three hundred fifty pounds. But he didn't look "fat". He just looked like himself, like a solid wedge of granite come to life. Although Frank was aware of Fisk's age--forty-five--he might have been anything. Only a totally bald head gave any indication of age--or, for that matter, of youth. His face looked like a carved totem out of some prehistoric tribe's ritual. It transcended such concepts as "age".

Fisk didn't rise or offer to shake hands. "Please be seated, Mr Gianelli," he said, and Frank did so. Fisk's voice sounded like what a solid block of granite come to life would sound like--massive, roaring, but clear, each syllable perfectly intoned.

"I appreciate your seeing me, Mr Fisk," Frank said, and the man across the desk grunted.

"I do not waste my time, Mr Gianelli. Therefore, your presence here has value to me. I shall say first of all that your stories in the _Bugle_   about Mr Foswell and his comic-opera activities were useful to me. By getting rid of the so-called Big Man--" Fisk paused, and Frank was amazed to see a smile appear on the man's features-- " 'Big Man', indeed! Never was a sobriquet so ill-suited!--you managed to clear away the deadwood. You, and Spider-Man." Fisk's features twisted into a sort of grimace. "It may well be that _he_ will be a thorn in my side some day. But he has earned some credit with me for now. That puts me in his debt. I always pay my debts. How I am to pay _him_ , I cannot decide yet. Perhaps some day, I shall spare his life. Who can say." He stared at Frank. "More to the point, Mr Gianelli, I am in _your_ debt as well. Thus, this meeting."

"Yes, sir," Frank said. "And of course, as you said, my presence here has value to you."

"Quite so," Fisk said, narrowing his eyes at Frank. "Quite so. Let me get to the point, Mr Gianelli. A certain Donald Pierce has directed you to me." Frank started. How did this man know that fact? Had Pierce told him? Or was he just showing off his skills as an "information broker"? "Pierce is not, alas, a very amiable or avuncular gentleman. Indeed, he rather obsesses about money, and about power, too. He feels that he shall obtain power through his connection to the Hellfire Club. Well, life is short. If this thought makes him happy, who am _I_   to disillusion him? But a serpent in his particular Garden of Eden is making its appearance--namely, Bolivar Trask and his Sentinels." Fisk paused, frowned at Frank. "And here you are, Mr Gianelli. A newspaper reporter, trying to find out as much as you can about mutants." Frank didn't ask how Fisk knew _that_. He was not going to be impressed by anything Fisk said, and he was sure that one of the purposes of the big man's saying all this _was_ to impress Frank.

Fisk looked hard at Frank. "Did you know, Mr Gianelli, that a meeting was held at the White House four days ago, in which it was decided by the President that Trask should finish his job--building the Sentinels?"

Frank blinked. "No, sir, I had no idea of that whatsoever."

"No, I suppose you did not." Fisk grunted. "The President feels that he can control these mechanical monstrosities. In fact, he cannot. Trask has already gone rogue. As soon as he can, he is going to program those things to destroy mutants. All mutants. Not just Magneto, and the 'evil' mutants. But the X-Men, the 'good' ones as well. Trask does not care. To him, the only good mutant is a dead mutant."

Frank waited, as Fisk paused slightly. Then-- "Yes, Mr Fisk. I take it you are opposed to this?"

Fisk shot Frank a very hard look, which Frank had difficulty interpreting. "I am a businessman, Mr Gianelli. A race war--which is what this would inevitably devolve into--would be bad for business. And it just might spark off _other_   race wars. Think how delicate the situation between white and black is in this country right now. Once Sentinels are gunning for mutants, who can say what might happen in the South, or even in our Northern cities? Once the flame starts spreading, there might be no putting it out."

Frank nodded. What Fisk was saying actually made a great deal of sense. But there was something else-- "Mr Fisk? I get the feeling that you know something else about these 'Sentinels'."

Fisk looked deeply unhappy. "I know a phrase, heard only in whispers. That phrase is 'Master Mold'."

Frank turned this phrase around on his own lips. "Master Mold". It sounded like something out of a cookie commercial. Fisk seemed to guess his reaction, because he suddenly became very serious.

"Mr Gianelli--Trask is a fool. He is dealing with something that will explode in his face. The Master Mold is the brain, the heart, of the Sentinels. A robot which controls all the others. Trask thinks it is a tool which he can use as he will. But I tell you this--the Master Mold is _already_   out of Trask's control. And when this process is complete, the goals of the Sentinels are likely to--change."

Frank felt a shudder run down his spine. "What do you mean?" he asked.

"I mean, Mr Gianelli, that the Sentinels will attempt to 'protect' humanity by setting themselves up as the human race's masters. That will be their ultimate sanction, their 'final solution'."

Frank couldn't help himself. "How the hell do _you_ know all this, Mr Fisk?"

Fisk looked impatient. "My methods are irrelevant, Mr Gianelli. The point is--do you believe me?"

Frank shut his eyes. Everything history taught indicated that Fisk was right. He merely nodded. Fisk grunted.

"You see, then, Mr Gianelli?" he said. "Trask must be stopped. It is in no one's interest to see this process taken to its inevitable conclusion."

"Have you talked to Trask himself?" Frank asked. "Warned him about the Master Mold?"

Fisk waved a hand. "Through intermediaries, yes. And it has done no good. Trask _is_   a fool. He _knows_ that nothing can go wrong with his miraculous creations. Well, he'll learn in time."

Frank looked at Fisk hard. "Just what do you want me to do, Mr Fisk?"

Fisk nodded. "Excellent, Mr Gianelli. You're getting to the point. What I want of you, Mr Gianelli, is to convince your Mr Jameson to spread all this on his front page. Make Trask and his plans a matter of public debate. Make people realize what's happening. Perhaps, if enough attention is paid to it, public opinion will force the government to clamp down on Trask. He himself is beyond argument. But there is still a window in which the President, and Richards, and the Avengers, can act. If you can help create that window, Mr Gianelli, then this meeting will have been useful to me."

Frank considered this. "Have you any information I can use, Mr Fisk? Stuff I can put down in black-and-white?"

Fisk grunted and pulled open a drawer in his desk. He gave Frank a folder. "The information in here is a good start, Mr Gianelli. It certainly should be enough to impress your Mr Jameson. Of course, it is up to him what he does with it."

Frank frowned. Jonah was a devoted civil libertarian, according to his lights. But his feelings about the X-Men--any super-hero--weren't entirely rational. He couldn't be sure just what his reaction to "Sentinels" would be.

Fisk looked at him shrewdly. "I know what you are thinking, Mr Gianelli. Well, do your best. I at least have played another pawn here today. Perhaps the game will be strengthened by it." He smiled slightly. "Good day, Mr Gianelli."

Frank rose. "Good day, Mr Fisk." He was back out on the street almost before he realized it. His mind was full of doubts, misgivings, fears. Yes, he'd take this to Jameson. But what would happen then?

 _My God,_ Frank thought with a start. _Fisk knows so much. Does he know about me and Maria?_ He looked up at the building. Nothing about Mr Wilson Fisk would surprise him.


	20. Interlude

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A brief pause in our narrative; Chapter 21 will return us to Book Three, "True Confessions".

INTERLUDE

* * *

Chapter Twenty

* * *

It was a cool spring evening in Central Park. Hank McCoy had on a wide-brimmed hat and overcoat, and with his dark glasses, he could almost pass as "human". A good thing he didn't care about all that anymore. And that was due so much to the woman he was here to meet, someone who showed him just how superficial appearance was. Of course, as a mutant he had had some appreciation for this fact anyway. But Maria Gianelli had made it all so obvious, just from whom she was. He smiled to himself. He had loved her almost from the first moment he had ever seen her. He still loved her.

 _And a fat lot of good that's done us both,_ he thought, suddenly depressed. Things happened. Life happened. Death happened. Things seemed to bend just the wrong way to keep them apart. He thought about this for a moment. His relationship with Maria--and Scott's, with Jean. God knows he had contemplated the similarities and differences before. They were so eerily similar in so many ways. But there was something, some way the current flowed, that made the two relationships different, giving each its own flavor. Well, that was inevitable, of course. They were four different people, after all. But were they _that_ different when they started out, all those years ago? When they were still children? Young. Enthusiastic. Full of their futures.

 _Oh, stop it, McCoy,_ he said to himself, a half-humorous grimace coming over his face. He was forgetting the elephant in the bathtub. Maria herself. Who-- _what_ \--she had been in those early days. He knew now, of course, that she had loved him from the start. But she had been so damned noble about hiding her real nature from him, from all of them. Suffering in silence. Even more so than Scott had, hiding behind the "deadly curse of his eyes". Well, Maria's curse--of being a sexual neuter--was admittedly of a quite different nature from Scott's affliction. And while Hank wished Maria had been honest about it from the start, he understood completely why she hadn't.

The burned area of the Park--near the woods--was approaching. There was the remnant of the greatest battle New York had ever seen. This area alone had never been cleaned and spruced up. No, it had been left as it was, with only the statue added. Hank walked up to the statue. There was Maria, in her adamantium Shift form, with her hands around Onslaught, at the exact instant she cracked his armor. That had taken everything she had. The others had been able to handle matters after that. But without Maria to do that one thing--with the entire world watching on television--well, God knows what might have happened.

The statue had writing on the base. The date of the great battle. And the inscription below: "This statue is dedicated by the grateful people of a great city to Maria Gianelli, who saved that city--and the planet--from the greatest threat in its history." Hank felt his throat tighten, as it always did when he came here. That had been close. So close... What compared? He could only think of two things--the first appearance on Earth of Galactus, and the coming of Dark Phoenix. And Maria had connections to both of them too--especially the latter. But this had been her finest hour--Onslaught. And the world had not been ungrateful.

"It's nice to know you haven't been forgotten." Hank spun, and there she was, at the edge of the woods. It was dark now, and they had the area to themselves. She walked up to Hank, and he felt his breath catch. Even now, after all these years, every single time he encountered Maria he felt as if it was the first. How she could do this to him he was never sure. Jean had had something of the same effect, but while Hank had loved Jean, he had never been _in_ love with her. Not really. He had been in love with Maria, and for a certain span of the time since they had first met, they had been lovers. And he still felt himself falling in love anew, every single time.

"It's not likely this city will ever forget you, Maria," he said softly. She nodded, and walked up next to him, both looking at the statue. Maria looked the same--tall, her mane of black hair falling over her shoulders onto her back. She was wearing a white dress that accentuated her pronounced figure and long legs.

"Hank, please take that damned silly hat and coat off." He laughed, and they dropped to the ground. She smiled and took his hand, squeezed it. "And how's my big uncowardly lion tonight?"

Hank laughed again. "Feeling less uncowardly than ever, if you must know," he said. "It takes more courage than you can know, Maria, to come here and see you."

"Courage?" she asked with a smile. "How so, Dr McCoy, Boy Genius? _I'm_ the one who's been depowered."

"That's not the issue," Hank said. "Maria--you have the heart of a whole pride of lions. Losing your powers--becoming human--that's hardly slowed you down."

"The hell it hasn't."

"Oh, I know," Hank said, feeling confused. "I know everything that's happened. But seeing you--you just look so like _yourself_. And that real you has nothing to do with mutant powers."

"Tell that to Wanda," Maria said with a sigh. " _She_   sure felt 'the real me' was connected to mutant powers. When the other mutants of the world lost their abilities, I went along for the ride."

Hank looked at the ground. "I know," he said. "That's the main reason, Maria, why I don't feel uncowardly seeing you. Guilt. That I retain my mutation, and you do not. I can't look you in the face."

Hank found his head being pulled up, and Maria's hands framing his head, and her lips on his. After awhile, they broke off, and she said with a smile: "Do you think you can look me in the face now?"

"I guess I can, at that," he said, and they laughed again for a moment, just as they had as children. Hank felt a sense of absolute joy and wonder. So much had happened. But here they were, stealing one more--one last? No, he wouldn't believe that--one _more_   moment for themselves.

"Does Scott know you're here?" she asked him.

"No," Hank said. "Oh, he knows I've come to New York. But that was ostensibly to consult with the Avengers, which I am going to do anyway. No, Maria, he knows nothing about--this."

"Good," she said. "Thank you for coming, Henry."

"Of course. Did you doubt but that I would?"

"No. Not for a second." She hesitated. "You're sure you weren't followed?"

"I've had a lot of experience in the hero business," he said evenly. "I made as sure as I could that I was alone before I came here." He paused. "Maria--I know your concerns. But I don't really think--"

"That Scott would order me killed?" she said sarcastically. "Oh, no. Like Michael Corleone, he has renounced Satan and his works."

Hank winced. "Maria--that is unfair. The burdens he is operating under these days--"

"Oh, no doubt. Terrible, terrible burdens." She looked him right in the eyes. "I, of course, have no notion whatsoever of the terrible burdens he is operating under."

Hank found that this time, he couldn't look her in the face. His gaze shifted down again. "For God's sake, Maria--"

"Oh, are we invoking _Him_ , now?"

Hank shrugged, put his hands up in a gesture of defeat. "Very well, Maria," he said hopelessly. "What do you want me to say? That you're right, and Scott's wrong? Perhaps that's so. I still feel that, at least for now, I am doing more good than harm at Utopia."

"Hank. Utopia is a cancer. It will drag us all down to destruction."

"And what's the alternative? Maria--we _are_   close to destruction already. Scott has pulled all the world's surviving mutants together, or almost all. By sheer force of will and personality. Even Magneto."

There was dead silence from Maria. Finally: "Magneto?" she asked in a whisper. " _He's_   joined you there?"

"Yes," Hank said calmly. "Maria--he is a changed man. And _I_ am telling you this. However right or wrong Scott may be, Magneto, at least, is not one of his mistakes."

"My God," Maria said, almost to herself. "Hank--I find this--I don't know how I find it. But my God! We are all so close to the abyss already. And I see you falling over it. There are times when I feel I can't breathe. When I'm choking in fumes of death, of despair." She paused. "I have felt this before. It is not a feeling I ever wanted to experience again."

"I know," Hank said softly. "My God, Maria, I know."

"I suppose that that--thing--is still lording it around with Scott?"

"Yes," Hank said with a sigh, "Emma is still functioning as his second-in-command."

"And his consort." Maria's voice was somewhere Hank couldn't locate, and he didn't want to.

"That too." He swallowed, and said: "Maria, I can't defend everything Scott has done. But he's held things together. He's--"

"He betrayed Jean." And _that_ , Hank thought, was uttered so absolutely, with such precise hatred, that he didn't even know what to compare her voice to. St Peter, perhaps, might have spoken thus when discussing Judas Iscariot.

"I know," Hank said in a small voice. "I know, Maria."

"I'm certain you do," she said in that same voice. "And the Apostles Warren and Bobby. And the Archangel Charles. And now, even the Great Satan, Eric. Amazing how eclectic Scott's church is becoming. Well, the Fallen Angel Maria, once the Queen of Heaven in a small-time way herself, at least is not one of the worshippers."

"Maria..." Hank asked. He was reluctant to bring this up, but the conversation was forcing him to.

"Yes, Hank?" she asked, and he thought she knew what he was going to ask.

"Your loyalty to Jean. The sheer _absoluteness_   of it."

"Yes, Hank?" she repeated.

He shook his head. "Maria--believe me, I share it. When Jean...died...on the Moon, I was pitched into a despair I thought I would never recover from. I knew it once before--when I lost _you_. Then I found you again--at the exact moment I lost Jean. And lost you _again_ , almost immediately."

"I know," she said, and her voice had softened. "Hank--so much has happened to us. So _much_ history. And none of it fair, to any of us."

"No," Hank said. "No, Maria, if we've learned anything, it's just how damned _unfair_ it all is."

"...Hank--"

"Yes, Maria?"

"What were you about to ask just now--about my loyalty to Jean?"

Hank looked her right in the eyes. "Maria--is your loyalty caused, at least in part, by the fact that you were forced to kill her on the Moon?"

* * *

Maria was silent for a long time. She looked at the statue, up at the stars, and finally gave out a cry, a cry of mixed pain and grief and even, Hank thought, a cry of defiance, almost exultation, that she was not accepting it all, the seeming victory of death and despair. Maria kneeled down, overcome for a moment by her feelings, and Hank moved to comfort her, then thought better of it. After awhile Maria rose again to her feet.

"Hank--do you ever think about the D'Bari?"

He caught his breath. This was serious. The past, life and death, all the love Maria was capable of feeling--love he knew better than anyone--and the terrible burden that duty had brought her...all of it was coming out now, tonight. He came over to her, took her hand and squeezed it. She squeezed back, and moved away from him.

"Hank--I think of them all the time. I dream of them all the time. What it must have been like to be there on that world, and to suddenly _see_   your sun annihilated in front of your eyes, to realize that everything was ending, all your hopes and dreams, your family, your history, everything. We came close to that when Galactus first came to Earth--but by the grace of God, we escaped. They did not." She walked around the clearing, trying, Hank felt, to make sense of it all. "Hank--I was _killed_ that day. That mission soon after we faced the Hulk in Las Vegas. When we and the FF went out into interplanetary space--by God, Hank, I was _killed_. If being blown into atoms isn't death, what is?"

"I don't know, Maria," Hank said gently. "But it's a question that we X-Men seem to ask ourselves, isn't it?"

"It is," she said after a moment. "But Hank--I can't _be_ killed, apparently. At least, in my mutant form. I always wondered if I could--even in the Torches and Pitchforks days. If I Shifted into the right form, then even being reduced to atoms couldn't really _kill_   me. I would always re-form, somehow. Well, this was the acid test, wasn't it? I _was_   blown into atoms. And you all considered me Killed in Action."

"What were we to think, Maria?" Hank asked miserably. "We _saw_   you killed. There was nothing, no word from you, not even a random thought from you--and believe me, the Professor never quit trying to detect one. Never."

"I know, Hank," she said heavily. "And all the while, I was slowly reforming. Over months, but it happened. And then--" She shrugged, waved her hand. "The whole story doesn't matter now. When I did regain my form, I was taken by the Badoon Slavers. _Me_ , a slave. Wearing a collar that forced me to do their will. Unable to use my powers for anything they didn't want. And then--escape, but seemingly permanent exile. No way of getting home. Well, in the end I dealt with my Slavers, all right." She paused. "Now there was a 'duty', wasn't there, Hank?"

He smiled. "Nothing that didn't need doing, Maria."

"Damned straight," she said. "And then I wandered through the Universe. Trying to get home, never succeeding. Finally joining the Rim Alliance. Since they were open to all races, being more of a fellowship of peoples than a racial empire, I felt at home. I rose. My powers made me indispensable to them. Finally, I became their leader. And met Christopher and the Starjammers."

Hank laughed out loud. "I can imagine what a shock _that_   must have been."

"Oh, it was," Maria said with a wry smile. "Scott's father, of all people! I could have joined him, roamed the stars freely. Maybe even gotten home. But by then, I had--duties."

Hank nodded. "I know, Maria. I know."

She shook her head. "Still--there was no reason why I couldn't have at least sent a message home. Maybe I was afraid to--it would have been too much of a temptation to bring it myself, and I was afraid I would have stayed, not returned. And people needed me out there." She looked up at the stars. "People like the D'Bari. The Mad Emperor D'Ken was on the brink of utilizing the M'Kraan Crystal. The D'Bari were terrified of him, as were all the subjects of the Shi'ar. They asked the Alliance for protection. We gave it to them. The D'Bari declared their independence from the Empire, and the Rim Alliance guaranteed that move. The Empire, in the aftermath of the fiasco with the Crystal and the madness of D'Ken, and with a succession crisis, was in no position to move to get the D'bari back. When Lilandra solidified her position, she signed a treaty guaranteeing the D'Bari their independence. We were the guarantors of their independence. _I_   was the guarantor of their independence." She looked at her statue again. "Hank--I didn't really know what had happened inside the Crystal. I had so many duties-- I heard something about an entity called 'Phoenix', and didn't inquire further. If I had, nothing would have been the same. So that makes everything that happened _my_ responsibility."

"I don't quite see how the arithmetic of that works out, Maria," Hank said gently.

"No?" she asked, looking tired, Hank thought. "Well--it makes perfect sense to _me_. And then, of course, I heard the news. Some nightmare entity had destroyed the D'Bari. Wiped them all out. I tried to find out what the hell had happened. Whatever it was, _I_   had certainly failed, since their security was _my_   responsibility. Then I received a summons from Lilandra--the being responsible was in custody, on Imperial Center. I went there immediately. Transported right into Lilandra's royal palace." She smiled wearily at Hank. "And what's the first thing I see? _You!_ The X-Men! And Jean." Maria shivered, and Hank put his furry arm around her. She leaned against him, and went on.

"Hank--I can't even begin to say how shocked I was. Seeing you all. Seeing _you_ , in particular, transformed into a--well, a beast. And Jean. I looked at Jean, and she looked at me, and she was just as shocked as I was, since I was still dead to you all. And in that instant, we both knew."

"Yes," Hank said softly, almost crooning to her. "Yes, my darling. I know. The whole scene was already a nightmare. That just made it a surreal nightmare, tragedy mixed with joy into an emotional alloy I couldn't even begin to describe. There were no words. There _are_ no words."

"No," Maria said so softly Hank could barely hear her. "No, Hank, there aren't. There were the people whom I loved most in all the Universe. There was Jean, my dearest friend. And I had to bring an indictment against her. I had to execute her. The souls of the D'Bari cried out for vengeance. Had I hesitated, the entire Alliance would have crumbled under my hand." And Maria started to cry, to weep convulsively. "And I should have let it! Oh, God, Hank, I should have let it! I should _never_ have done what I did! Never!"

"Hush, hush," Hank said, and he _was_ crooning now, trying to comfort this woman whom he loved any way he could. After awhile Maria's sobbing quieted, and she was able to continue.

"Oh, God--why string it out, Hank? You were there. You had to fight me." She shook her head. "I was forced to fight you all. I fought Colossus, and defeated him. And more and more, Jean was losing it. She might have gone on, tried to fight. But at the end-- Hank, she begged me to do it. 'Maria--I can't keep going. And I can't do it myself. Maybe I haven't the courage. Maybe somewhere inside, I still feel it's wrong, even now. But please, Maria! Do it!' "

"And you did," Hank said, all the compassion in the world in his voice.

"Yes." She spoke no more for some minutes, as Hank held her hand. Finally, Maria sighed and kissed him.

"Dear Hank," she said. "You _always_   know what's right. You were always our compass, in a lot of ways. Did you know, we all used to feel that? If _you_   were dubious about something, _we_   were dubious about something."

"I'm delighted to hear it," Hank said, so off-handedly that they both laughed.

"Still--it's so," Maria said. "Ah, my." She looked again at the statue. "Well--I guess I _have_   done some useful things." She took a deep breath. "I went back to the Alliance, of course. I didn't even stay for Jean's funeral. I had no right to be there."

"You were wrong," Hank said.

"Maybe," she said shortly. "But I returned to the Alliance. For a time. But it was no good. Nothing mattered to me anymore. They realized it. The story of me and Phoenix had already become a legend. Childhood friends, fellow X-Men, forced into--what happened. Ballads were being sung, dramas being produced. I was becoming a figure of myth in front of my goddam eyes. Hank--I hate being a figure of myth. I want to be real. I couldn't be real there anymore. So I abdicated."

"Yes," Hank said. "I know that part, Maria. But you didn't come home."

" 'Home'?" she said with a cold laugh. "And just where was that? I roamed the Universe, staying briefly here and there. I had men--lots of men, from lots of races. For a few minutes at a time, of course," she said with a bitter laugh. "I had drugs, alcohol, whatever local stimulants I could find. Plenty of them. And everywhere I went, I heard the story of Phoenix being told. Heard endless tales of my own part in it. I kept my identity to myself--not hard, with my ability to Shift. I just drifted, wondering how I was going to die myself, knowing that I couldn't. I felt as if I were in hell--and that was fine by me. That was where I belonged."

"We wondered, of course," Hank said. "Knowing that you were alive-- Maria, it was beyond strange. Mourning for Jean, so deeply that I thought my heart was going to explode. Knowing that you were alive, but beyond my ability to aid you, and feeling you were lost to me forever--and having the burden you were carrying--" Hank looked lost. "Oh, I was an Avenger. And a Defender. And all the time, part of me wasn't believing in any of it. Not for a second."

"No doubt," Maria said gently. "And then, of course--"

Hank shook his head. "Jean steps back into the picture."

"Oh, yes. It took me a long time to learn this, in the corner of the Universe I was hiding. But I did--and the circumstances would give you a good laugh. I've told you a little of it, but not all. Someday, when there's a time for stories and laughter... But yes, I heard. And I couldn't believe." Maria shivered, and Hank saw more tears on her face. "I didn't know what to do. I had been secretly hoping for a miracle--and here it was! Finally, I decided to come home. That was easier said than done, but I managed it in the end. And walked right into a nightmare."

"Inferno," Hank said. "Yes, I think that would qualify as a 'nightmare' on anybody's scale."

"I jumped right into the battle," Maria said. "Of course, the X-Men were astonished to see Jean alive in the first place. Then you all had the inestimable gift of seeing _me._ Well, we made short work of all that. I had my reunion with Jean." Maria was silent for a long time. "I asked absolution of her. She gave it. Hank-- _she gave it._ She knew what I had done. But she gave it."

"You were expecting something else?" Hank said, a hint of humor in his voice.

"Oh, God--I don't know! I do know that I just had an emotional breakdown from everything. You remember--it lasted for weeks. But I recovered, and joined X-Factor with the rest of you. And when the X-Men reunited, I came along for that, too. I saw Scott and Jean marry at last. And you and I--"  She smiled at him.

"We had some time together," Hank said. "Those were good days, Maria."

"Yes," she said. "And nights. Yes, Hank, they _were_ good. I even--" she indicated the statue-- "took out some heavyweights."

"That you did."

"Umm. Then--" Maria's color rose. "Then _she_   came along. The thing."

"Emma."

"If you choose to call her by her name. And he betrayed Jean."

Hank was silent for awhile. "You know, Maria, Jean forgave him. Both of them."

"She was a saint. I most emphatically am not."

"She asked you to forgive them."

"I would have done anything for her, Hank. Anything at all." A brief pause. "Except that."

"And then--"

Maria sighed. "Then Jean 'died'. Again. Or so she wanted us to think. I've never believed it for a second."

"We buried her body, Maria."

"And _I_   was blown into atoms! Do _you_ believe she's gone for good, Hank?"

He thought. What did he believe? "I don't know."

"I _do_ know. Then came M-Day, and the psychotic Wanda Maximoff and _her_ little present for the mutants. For me."

Hank shrugged. "If you had stayed--been with us--maybe you would have been one of the ones protected from her spell."

"If, but, maybe," Maria said. "I could not endure what Scott and the thing were doing. I left, as you recall--and not very neatly or quietly, either. It was messy. Things were said--especially on my part--which were unforgivable. Which were meant to be unforgivable. Yes, I left. Imagine my surprise when I woke up one day, and found myself to be plain old Maria Gianelli. Shorn of the Curse of the Shift! Well, gosh golly and gee whillikers, it was all just too good to be true."

Hank took her hand. "Maria--"

She shook her hand free of his, and stomped around the clearing. "I knew immediately what had to be done. I disappeared, went under cover. I had too many enemies. Any of them might have wanted me dead. And I found that I did not _want_   to be dead. I wanted to live. So I ran."

"What had happened, Maria?" Hank asked. "Why _were_   you so insistent on living? We had broken up--I would not leave Scott, and you would not remain. You made it clear this was a matter that we could not compromise." He hesitated. "Maria, I confess--that broke my heart. I hope there will come a day when this state of affairs no longer applies."

"So do I," Maria said. "Hank--I have hopes, that's all. I have _hopes_. I no longer have the terrible burden of knowing that Jean died under my hand. And I have hopes for the mutants."

Hank shut his eyes. Here it was, the real point of this entire meeting. "Why is that, Maria?" he asked quietly.

"Wanda's work is not going to be permanent, Hank." Maria said. "I believe that firmly. _She_   shall not permit it."

"So you think Jean is behind the scenes somewhere, preparing the ground for the return of the mutants, and their-- _your_ \--repowering?"

"Absolutely," Maria said. "And I have every intention of hanging around until that day occurs. When it does, she will need me. I intend to be here for her. I shall never fail her again."

The absolute note in her tone brooked no argument. "Maria--do you know something the rest of us don't? I've often wondered--"

She looked straight into his face. " _Maybe._ "

Hank felt a chill come over him. He asked nothing more about the matter. Change the subject to something, anything else.

"Maria--do you really think Scott is trying to kill you?"

"How can I be sure?" she said. "Look at some of the things we _know_   him to have done! Hank--can you be _sure_ he might not feel, 'who shall rid me of this turbulent ex-mutant'? That he might think I'm too dangerous to be running around loose, if I _should_ regain my powers? I'm an ex-galactic empress, to all intents and purposes. I might be a rival to him, for loyalty of the earth's mutants, though I do not wish to be. But in the paranoid haze in which he now lives, can he be sure of this? And if he does ask who shall rid him of myself--might not someone listen? And act? Someone such as, say, Logan? Who might even decide on his own that I'm too great a risk to be walking the earth? Hank--can you be _sure_ I'm not right?"

Hank took a deep breath. An unhappy breath. "No, Maria, I can't be sure."

"No, indeed," Maria said. "Which is why I'm glad you're here right now, Hank. For protection."

Hank looked startled. "Protection? From who? What?"

"From me." Hank watched, open-mouthed, as Logan walked out of the woods behind the statue. "From me, Hank. I've been here this whole time." He looked at Maria. " _You_   knew I was here, didn't you?"

She shrugged. "I guessed," she said. "I didn't believe that Hank could get clear of all pursuit. Especially you. And I was fairly sure that there would _be_   pursuit. Scott would regard this trip to New York with suspicion. _I_   would, were I in his place."

Logan's eyes narrowed. "But you came here, anyway."

"Yes," Maria said. "I wanted to appeal to Hank. Get him to abandon Scott and Utopia. But it's no good. If I were still a mutant, maybe. But as things are--"

Hank was following this dialogue with his mouth open, not sure if he was dreaming. "Logan?" he asked. "Did Scott order you to assassinate Maria?"

Logan looked Hank right in the eyes. "No," he said. "Not in so many words. I think the term is 'plausible deniability'. He doesn't even know himself that that's what he wants." He shrugged. "That's what I'm there for--to know what he wants even before he does."

"And you think I'm just going to let you kill Maria?"

Logan looked unhappy. "Hank--it's now or never. We _can't_ risk lettin' her get her mojo back. She's just too dangerous. And she's not with the program."

"And what if I'm right?" Maria asked him. "What if Jean _is_ moving behind the scenes to restore the mutants? Will you kill _her_ if she reappears?"

He scowled. "Well, _you're_   the expert there, ain't you? Any tips?"

Hank growled. "Logan--that's enough! No one is going to die tonight, do you understand?"

Logan was very quiet. "Move back, McCoy."

"No."

"McCoy--move back. I mean it. Now."

"No."

Logan's claws were unsheathed, and he stepped forward. "I won't kill you, McCoy, but I will hurt you. And Maria'll be just as dead."

"No." But it was not Hank's voice that said this, but a newcomer's--a tall, regal black woman flying over the clearing, a wind at her back and lightning at her fingertips. "No, Logan. We do not kill our own." Ororo landed gently in the clearing, next to Maria. "Hank had me accompany him as back-up. I agreed to do so readily. I wondered about you, as well. Logan--this is _not_   going to happen." And she looked her old friend straight in the eyes, and he looked at her, and finally Logan sighed and gave a curse.

"You guys don't know what you're doing," he said with disgust. "This is weakness. Weakness we can't afford."

"Perhaps," Ororo said. "But I am going to take a chance on life. On our friendship with Maria. On love--my love for her, and my love for Jean, as well." She suddenly looked angry. "For God's sake, Logan--have you listened to _nothing_ you have heard this evening? Do you remember what happened to Maria, after she killed Phoenix on the Moon? What happened to all of us, knowing that one of our own had destroyed she whom we most loved?" She walked to Maria, and hugged her. "Bright Lady, there will be _no more killing_ of X-Man by X-Man. Logan--you should be ashamed of yourself. And so should Scott, because he would have 'accepted' this when you told him. Perhaps Utopia _is_ necessary. But I shall not stand by and watch Scott--or you--become cheap gangsters, no matter what. If you had done this deed, Logan, the X-Men would have been dead. Oh, people would have gone on calling themselves 'X-Men'--but there would have been no life in the structure, no soul." She turned and looked sternly at Logan. "My dear friend--I shall forgive this, this time, as an anomaly. Times are hard, and no one is entirely in their right frame of mind. But this must never happen again. If we are clear upon this point, then I am prepared to overlook this matter. Are we clear?"

Logan was silent for a long time. Then he nodded and without a word walked off into the woods of the Park. Hank sighed.

"Thank you, Ororo."

"Certainly." She turned to Maria. "My dear friend--how are _you_? I heard much of what you said. But are you happy, where you are?"

Maria shrugged. "Not really, Ororo. But that's a quality that seems to be in short supply these days."

"Perhaps so." She kissed Maria. "But please, stay in touch. And may the Bright Lady bring us closer to the day when we are redeemed. _All_   of us."

"Yes, my friend," Maria said. "I pray that this is so, Ororo." Ororo nodded and flew off into the night. Hank and Maria looked at each other.

"How about a cup of coffee?" Maria asked. "Do you have time for that?"

"Absolutely," Hank said, putting his coat and hat back on. "And I know just the place, down in the Village. It used to be called the Coffee-a-Go-Go. Nowadays, it's a little funkier than you might remember. But the coffee _is_ good, and the decor is to die for."

Maria gave him a twisted smile as she took his arm. "You don't say. Any poets?"

"Oh, certainly. Poets for all occasions. Including welcoming ladies who travel beyond the stars--and return."

"Good enough for me." They started walking south. "Will you protect me if we run into muggers?"

"Of course."

"Good. In that case, let me tell you about an orgy I once attended on a planet with three green suns--"  And Hank listened raptly, occasionally interjecting a "really!" or "you don't say?", as Maria exercised her old prerogative of putting him on outrageously. Or at least, he _hoped_   she was putting him on.


	21. Figurines

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> We now return to Book Three, "True Confessions".

PART THREE: TRUE CONFESSIONS (Continued)

* * *

Chapter Twenty-One

* * *

Charles Xavier looked out at the night through his study window. It was a crystal clear Fall evening, and the stars shone brightly. He was deeply troubled.

That afternoon, he had had a visit from Dr Henry Pym, ostensibly to report on the Lucifer Affair. Charles had given that particular matter to the Avengers to deal with, despite his personal interest in the creature who called himself Lucifer. Well, they had dealt with it very thoroughly indeed, much to Charles' satisfaction. But when Pym had finished telling Charles of this, he suddenly looked uncomfortable.

"Charles--you know that I have a Security Agreement with the government. I can't speak to anyone of certain things--not even to you."

Puzzled, Charles had merely nodded his agreement.

"Yes, of course..." Pym looked very unhappy indeed. "And there's just so much I'm able to say. But Charles--I can't, in good conscience, _not_   say this. Be wary. Very wary. Deep and powerful forces are arraying themselves against the mutants in general, and the X-Men in particular. People--people in authority--think they can control these forces, but I tell you they cannot. You and your students face grave dangers in the next few months."

Charles had thanked him, and Pym left after that, still looking unhappy. He hadn't even raised the issue of Charles reading his mind to see what he was talking about, and Charles felt honored by that trust. Of course he wouldn't violate Henry's faith in him in such a way. But the exchange had troubled him deeply. Was it possible that he couldn't entirely trust the government anymore? Should he consult Fred Duncan? No--that might reveal that someone had spoken out of turn. And Charles was confident that Duncan would warn him if he heard about any danger.

Charles sighed, and wheeled back to his desk. This was one more factor he had to take into account. But even before Pym had spoken to him, Charles had reached a conclusion. Somewhere out there--he gestured out his window, reaching out towards the night--there was an invisible chess player, an unknown factor, who was manipulating events in his own fashion. Someone who had an agenda of his own, who acted behind the scenes for--what?--unfathomable reasons. There was no one thing that convinced Charles of this. But small indications...the relative quiet of the Brotherhood. Eric seemed to be biding his time. Why? The absence of action for the X-Men. Things had been very quiet since the encounter with Unus. Too quiet. There was something unnatural in it. And above all--and this was something that Charles sensed, not just with his intuition but also with his psychic probing of the outside world--there was something _wrong_. He couldn't say what this "something" was, just that he knew with absolute certainty that it existed. Something that didn't--belong. He felt frustrated that he couldn't pin it down anymore than this. But it was out there. And it was a factor in the affairs of the mutants, of the X-Men. Not necessarily a negative factor. No, Charles felt that according to its own lights, it was a benevolent force. But it was _there_. And he couldn't gauge its intentions or ultimate goals.

He shook his head. Perhaps he was exaggerating this, seeing too far beyond the evidence. But he didn't think so. He wished whoever it was would contact him. Let him know what it might want of him, if its goals were incompatible with Charles' own, or at least let him know what those goals were. But perhaps not telling Charles was one of those goals.

Feeling distinctly uncomfortable, Charles shut his study window and went to bed.

* * *

Jean Grey was back in her room, carefully putting the negligee away. She had lain in Scott's bed for almost an hour, the two of them just kissing some and feeling the warmth of each others body. That was all they were interested in doing now. This process of digesting their experiences--it was still barely begun, she realized with a warm glow that went all the way through her. Just this--touching, caressing, kissing--was still so overwhelming... She wondered if it would _ever_ become "routine". She hoped not. Did her telekinetic ability--and buried psychic powers--make all this more intense for her than it was for other girls? She gave a delicious shiver of anticipation. If _that_ was true--then when they graduated to further plateaus--yum! Would she be able to stand it?

Calm down, Red, she told herself. She was making a big leap from what was still very limited evidence. Let's see how each day went--and each night, she thought with satisfaction. She lived for those moments of being in his arms. And she knew he felt the same.

She was in bed a moment later, and knew she had to think of something else if she had any hope of getting to sleep. _Maria_. Yes, there was a safe subject. Maria, Jean thought with a wry mental shrug, was simply not always truthful. That business about Jameson being a mutant! And there had been other incidents-- Maria enjoyed putting people on. Maybe a little _too_   much. And of course for Jean, the only question that presented itself was--how could she join Maria in making as much mischief as possible? Without doing anything _really_ malicious, of course. She had to admit that Maria was a natural at this, and Jean, while an enthusiastic amateur, had to bow to a true professional. But _that_   wasn't going to stop her. She'd show Maria! Of course, it would be tough to beat that little stunt of hers at the Coffee-a-Go-Go. But once Jean realized what Maria was up to, she had held her own--more than held her own--in dishing it up to the boys. How could she match a Hall of Fame performance like _that,_ anyway?

Jean found herself getting sleepy. Naturally, anything she did had to involve Scott. She was going to get Scott. And while she'd allow Maria to join in, _she,_ Jean Grey, was going to get the lion's share of the glory this time around. As she fell asleep, visions of sugar plums filled Jean's mind--and they all were being directed by her telekinesis right at Scott's kisser. That sweet kisser... She dreamed of kissing and plums and the look on Scott's face when he realized how totally he had been conned.

* * *

Raven Darkhome arrived home late, as usual. And as usual, there was no light on in the house in Alexandria. The only other occupant of the house didn't require light.

"Irene?" she called out, and received a reply from the study.

"In here, Raven." Raven entered the study and turned the light on. Irene was sitting in a rocking chair, a Braille book on her lap. "Good to see you. How was the day?"

"Vexing," Raven said with asperity. "Like all of them." She went over and kissed Irene, then sat down on the small couch. "What are you reading, Irene?"

Irene held up the Braille text. "Asimov's _The End of Eternity_." She paused before continuing. "About alternate realities."

Raven shut her eyes and sighed. "And is it helping you at all?"

"Not particularly," Irene said. "Asimov's mind is logical, clear, and concise. All the things reality is not."

"No doubt," Raven said viciously.

"You _are_ in a mood," Irene said calmly.

"Oh, my, how awful," Raven said wearily. "Plans are being made for our extermination, and I'm in a mood! I wonder why!"

Irene shook her head. "That is not the right frame of mind to be in, Raven."

"Oh?" Raven said with a look of disgust on her face--which of course was wasted with Irene, but it didn't stop her from making it anyway. "And just what _is_ the 'right' frame, anyway?"

"The long view," Irene said. "I've told you before, Raven, that the Sentinels are _not_   going to exterminate the mutants. You should believe me."

"You keep telling me that," Raven said. "But I don't know--your precognition seems like such a frail comfort, against the forces about to be unleashed."

"Frail or not, Raven, it's all I have to offer you. I can't force you to believe what I say."

"It's just that you're so often gnomic and obscure," Raven said, softening a little. "And yet, you seem sure about this."

"I _am_   sure," Irene said. "About this, dear Raven, I am." She paused. "Certain things are becoming clearer to me, Raven. I think I know something I haven't before. It would help if I actually was able to meet her, hear her voice, gauge her presence...but it's becoming clearer in my vision."

" 'Her'?" Raven said, intrigued. "Whom do you mean, Irene?"

Irene put the book down. "The X-Man, Raven. Marvel Girl. _She_   has such overwhelming possibilities--" Irene shook her head. "I don't understand it all yet. Indeed, I'm just barely beginning to see it. But _she_ has an infinite future ahead of her. I don't know what I mean. Only that almost every Causal Nexus goes through her, somehow. Perhaps in time I shall know more. But she is crystallizing in my mind as a force of nature in and of herself."

"Marvel Girl," Raven said, running the name over her tongue as if she had never really considered it before. "Jean Grey. I wonder--"

"Yes, Raven?" Irene asked, after Raven hadn't spoken for a few moments.

Raven expelled a breath, shook her head. "I don't know, Irene," she said to her friend. "She is not the X-Man I would have considered for such a formidable role."

Irene nodded. "I know. It has come as a surprise to me, too. But there is no doubt."

"What of the others? Like the new member, Shift? Do you see anything in _her_ future?"

Irene smiled. "Oh, yes. Plenty. Unfortunately for her, little of it is good. Unless--"

"Yes, Irene? Unless what?"

"Unless she finds her Fairy Godmother."

* * *

Maria walked through the lonely canyons of the Wall Street area. It was late at night, and the X-Men had responded to a report of Mastermind trying to abduct a fourteen-year old girl on the assumption that she was a burgeoning mutant. This report seemed strange to all of them, and the Professor could detect no mutant activity in the area, either with his own powers or with Cerebro. But on the theory of better safe than sorry, he sent the team to the area to see what was happening. As it turned out, it had nothing whatever to do with Mastermind, or any other mutant. All it was was a young girl on something called LSD--apparently the graduate school after you got your degree in marijuana--convinced that she was a "mutant", and babbling about the Brotherhood being after her. The police had taken the poor kid away, and Maria hoped she'd get some help. But since they were in the city, the Professor had given them a couple of hours to themselves. The others had taken advantage of the opportunity to make a visit to the Coffee-a-Go-Go. Maria obviously couldn't join them there, so she went on patrol, looking for some action. She felt she needed some--she was feeling rusty; they all were.

She was striding confidently--at least, she _hoped_   she was striding confidently--through the narrow streets of the financial district, looking up at the skyscrapers. Wondering just how her life had gotten to where it was, why she had been born that strange and puzzling thing called a "mutant", wondering whether she liked or disliked the fact that she had become that even stranger and more puzzling thing called a "celebrity", and wondering if she liked or disliked the fact that she was getting a reputation among the public at large as a comedian. Was this a variation on the Class Clown Syndrome? Laughing to conceal the Hamlet-like heartbreak on the inside?

"Oh, the humanity!" she called out to the night, wishing she had a skull to hold so she could soliloquize with it. And then her attention was blessedly taken away from such matters, because she saw Warren flying up among the skyscrapers.

 _What the hell?_ The last she saw of Warren, he had been on the way to the Coffee-a-Go-Go with the others, in civilian garb. Had something happened? Was there an emergency? She looked around for the others, and didn't see them. Warren flew down closer to the street level, and Maria saw him dodging among a number of buildings. Then she saw it. That wasn't Warren!

She looked right at the figure in the dim light of some windows, and it was in fact an older man, lean and indeed a bit scrawny, as bald as an egg, wearing a green costume and flying with artificial wings. Then it hit her--this was the Vulture, a Spider-Man villain, the one who could fly. She almost snickered. He flew pretty well--for an old man. She was almost tempted to run into a pay phone and call the Cafe, just to get Warren up here to fly rings around this clown. She'd bet he could do it with his eyes shut. Unfortunately, she didn't have any change on her. Oh, well. Should she try to stop him? She supposed so, but he was still pretty high up. What would he make of her eagle form, she wondered? She was just about to Shift into it when the situation changed.

Into her range of vision came a figure wearing a red-and-black costume. He was swinging on--yes! A web! Spider-Man! Maria had never actually _seen_   Spider-Man before, but had always wanted to. There was just something incredibly cool, almost insouciant, about him that appealed to her. She felt that they were somehow on the same wavelength. The Professor had assured them that he wasn't a mutant, a fact she felt sorry about. But here he was! She crawled into a shadow on the street, watching the show. If he needed her, she'd take a hand. But until then--

The Vulture swooped up at Spider-Man, who dodged him with ease. Spider-Man entrapped the Vulture in some webbing, but the older man touched a button on a band he wore about his wrist, and a blue light shined out from it. The light hit the webbing, and dissolved it. She heard him laughing faintly from where she was.

"Do you think I'm a total idiot, Spider-Man?" she heard him say to his younger opponent. "Do you think I can be beaten by the same stratagem _twice?_ "

"Well, you can't blame a fella for trying," Spider-Man replied, in just the mocking tone Maria knew he'd use. Spider-Man started swinging down lower, towards the spot where she was standing. The Vulture followed. Spider-Man swung across the area about three stories up, and the Vulture swept down to the street level, gaining momentum for another swoop up at his opponent. Maria smiled to herself. Time for her to put her foot out to trip him up...

In fact, she stayed in her natural form and simply extended her right arm straight into the Vulture's path. He slammed into it, and the impact knocked him senseless. She retracted her arm, her prey held securely. She looked at him as she reeled him in.

"Aw--the poor old boy fall down and go 'boom'," she said with mock pity, as Spider-Man swung down to the street. He landed and walked gingerly towards her.

"You want this bozo?" Maria asked brightly.

Spider-Man stopped in front of her, put his hands on his hips. Maria was surprised by how small he was--a good two inches shorter than she was. "Thanks. I guess."

Maria shrugged. "Just passing through," she said. "Hope I'm not sticking my nose where I'm not wanted."

"No, no, that's fine," Spider-Man said--a bit warily, Maria thought. "You're Shift, aren't you? The X-Man?"

"Umm hmm," she replied. "What gave it away? My X-Man costume? Or my stunning beauty?"

Spider-Man laughed. "Oh, both." He came over, took her hand, and kissed it. "M'lady Shift," he said with all the mock-gallantry he could command, " 'tis my honor to make your acquaintance. I have heard _so_ much about you."

Maria curtsied. "Many thanks, m'lord Spider. Nothing good, I hope?"

"Indeed not!" Spider-Man said with a laugh. "Especially in the confines of the _Bugle_   building. Word is, m'lady, that your name there is as black as my own."

She beamed with delight. "You don't say!" She thought about this, and smiled. "I guess Mr Jameson doesn't appreciate rumors of his being a mutant."

"No, indeed," Spider-Man said. "He's made a special project of bringing _you_ to heel." Spider-Man paused. "Anyone who can produce such a result in Jonah is a friend of mine."

"Absolutely!" Maria said heartily, and put out her hand. "Shift. You'll excuse me if I don't go into more detail regarding names?"

"That's something _I_ understand all too well," Spider-Man said, shaking her hand.

"And you really _don't_   mind my taking this clown out for you?" she said, indicating the Vulture. "I mean, I just got good and sore when I saw him imitating the Angel. _One_ flying guy is enough. _Two?_ " Maria shivered theatrically. "The mind reels at the implications."

Spider-Man, Maria saw with appreciation, laughed out loud. "This poor guy--I dunno what it is about him, he tries, but it just doesn't seem to work. The last time we fought, he didn't even take my webbing into account. He just wasn't _thinking._ Well, he did this time, but still--"

"Yeah," Maria said. "A bit in over his head, isn't he? Just how were you planning to beat him _this_   time, before I came by?"

"Oh, I'd have thought of something." He picked the prone form of his opponent up, tossed him over his shoulder. "Guess I'd better return him where he belongs. Nice meeting you, Shift."

"Likewise," she called out to him as he swung away. "Don't be a stranger!" She briefly mentioned the encounter to Cyclops, who seemed to take it in stride. But having a fledgling relationship to Spider-Man felt good. She felt they were kindred spirits.

* * *

"The time has come for action," Magneto said. Wanda looked around at the rest of the Brotherhood. Wyngarde was standing erect, seemingly impervious to the news, but Wanda could sense a certain relief. Wyngarde had been getting bored and cabin-feverish, taking it out on the Toad and generally making himself even more obnoxious than usual. The Toad himself smiled, trying--as always--to ingratiate himself with Magneto. Pietro stood at the edge of their circle, arms crossed, looking ostentatiously unimpressed. Wanda herself felt tense, worried that the sense of almost equilibrium she had felt in recent weeks was in danger of being upset. Magneto himself, she thought, seemed determined, but not angry or driven, as he had been on so many previous occasions.

"Excellent, Master, excellent!" the Toad cackled. "The humans shall tremble, now that _homo superior_   is once more on the march."

Magneto looked quietly at the Toad, who seemed to shrink and muttered a few inaudible words. Wanda sighed to herself. Why on earth did the ridiculous Toynbee _ever_   open his mouth in Magneto's presence, since he never said anything right and often was rebuked--if not worse? Magneto went on.

"Our job is not to attack the humans this day," he said. "Rather, it is to safeguard the mutants." He turned on a light, and a map of the United States appeared superimposed on a screen. There were some flashing lights--six of them: one in upstate New York, one in Pennsylvania, one over New York City itself, two over Long Island, and one way over, in Nebraska.. "Those," Magneto went on, "are the origin points of the X-Men. Certain facts have come to my attention concerning those origins. They are directly relevant to _all_   mutants. In particular, the Nebraska orphanage occupied by Scott Summers--whom you know as Cyclops--is of direct interest to us. We shall be visiting there."

The others seemed disconcerted by this news. Wanda herself didn't understand any of what Magneto was telling them. But it was Pietro who spoke up.

"Why the devil does Cyclops concern _us,_ Magneto?" he said. "And even if he does, why does his _orphanage_   matter?"

Wanda expected Magneto to explode in a temper tantrum. Instead, he just smiled tightly. "Why indeed, Pietro? Well--we shall know better when we get there. But I can say this--that orphanage is more than a simple orphanage. Much more. Behind it is a power that regards mutants as its personal playthings. A power that wants to use us, for its own aggrandizement." He paused, and Wanda saw he was not smiling now. "I believe this individual needs to be taught a lesson. That we are _not_ his playthings, and shall not tolerate his regarding us as such. No force on this planet can use _homo superior_ in such a manner. I regard this as much more of a danger to us than the X-Men can ever be. They are simply misguided. _This_ is something more."

Wyngarde puckered his lips. "You intrigue me, Magneto," he said. "I can almost feel the shifting of alliances beneath our feet. 'Misguided'. That is a milder term for the X-Men than I have ever heard you use before. Is there, perhaps, a mutant version of the Nazi-Soviet Pact in the offing?"

To Wanda's total astonishment--and she was willing to bet, Wyngarde's as well--Magneto actually laughed. "We shall see, Jason," he said, and she saw Wyngards wince slightly, as he always did whenever Magneto called him by his first name. "A step at a time. For now, Nebraska. We shall leave first thing tomorrow morning."

* * *

And somewhere, a man called Essex calmly considered the stakes of power. This was nothing new for him---he did so every day of his life. But those stakes had become so much more...intriguing...of late. He looked at a collection of small figurines assembled in front of him. He slowly started picking them up, one by one. The first was Charles Xavier. _You feel that you are in such control, my dear Professor. In fact, everything is coming apart at the seams. Pym's warning was cryptic--too much so, perhaps. You don't really understand. Well, I hope you do before it is too late. I cannot speak. I cannot jeopardize my_ _own_ _plans. They have been laid for over a century. There can be no swerving aside now. You shall have to overcome Trask and his nightmare yourself._

Another figurine. Cyclops. _Although, my dear boy,_ _you_ _I might have to save--if certain conditions warrant. Oh, I have your precious DNA. If total disaster strikes, I can live with that. But having you around in the flesh has its advantages. We shall see._

Marvel Girl. _There is something about you I do not understand. The boy loves you, and you love him. I thought I was manipulating that outcome, but I was wrong. It would have happened anyway. I had nothing to do with it. No. I do_ _not_ _understand. You are a wild card, my dear. As such, you are a danger to me. I hope that will not require any precipate action on my part._

Angel. _You. You were meant to soar, and you do. You have sacrificed the girl willingly. That helps me, but it shall not give you and special favors from me. Sinister does not give favors._

Iceman. _You have grown up these past few months. And you do not even begin to understand the extent and nature of your powers. Your precious Professor hasn't been helpful in that regard. Perhaps someday--strictly for my amusement--_ _I_ _shall help you. I wonder--will you be grateful?_

Beast. _Oh my. The jest is almost too much. In love with Pinocchio. And not having a clue as to any of it. You will fall hard, boy. Harder than anything you can imagine right now. And the morale of the entire team will be hit hard as well. Will that be to my advantage, or not? I should say yes. Anything that weakens the X-Men is to my advantage._

Shift. _Our Miss Pinocchio herself. If it's any consolation to you, my dear, you are the only one who frightens me. Because you do not understand the true nature of your powers._ _I_ _do not understand the true nature of your powers. And anything I do not understand is a threat. We shall have to get to know each other better._

Magneto. _Oh, Eric, Eric--so you're onto me at last, are you? It's damned well about time. I was expecting this move on your part years ago. Go to Nebraska, my dear Eric. See what you see, discover what you discover. For all the good it will do you._

Toad. _You are nothing. Hardly even worth my attention. But it will be amusing someday, to see your smoldering hatred of Magneto finally explode. I wonder if Eric will find it amusing, when it happens?_

Mastermind. _Oh, my dear Jason. The Toad wears the jester's costume--but really, it should be_ _you_ _! You are so much more amusing than the wretched Toynbee could ever be. You think you are controlling Magneto. Controlling Magneto!_ _You_ _! Something very bad is going to happen to you one of these days. And you shall deserve it._

Quicksilver. _Pietro. You are not happy. But then, I do not think you shall ever be happy. That doesn't seem to be part of your natural equipment--the capacity for happiness. Perhaps that is part of your...heritage. And oh my, have I been tempted to inform you of that heritage! But it isn't time--yet._

Scarlet Witch. _I said that the Gianelli girl is the only one who frightens me? Perhaps that was wrong. Wanda, Wanda--your future is a blank to me. You shall not remain with the Brotherhood too much longer._ _That_ _, at least, is clear. But what happens then? I do not know. But you are who you are, and your powers are even more mysterious than Shift's. Why do I think of you and Marvel Girl together? As though the two of you are complementary in some way? I do not know. But I do feel this. It bothers me._

Essex sighed, and rose. He paced the room he was in, wishing that certain events that he expected to come to pass had already occurred, wishing that he knew more. He was in the position of having to put his trust in others--particularly, the X-Men. He did not like being in this position. But they had to overcome Trask and his Sentinels, sooner or later, or else his, Essex', plans would go up in smoke. And there was nothing he could do to aid them. _Charles--you have trained them well. It better not have been in vain. For my sake--and yours._

* * *

"I do believe that there's nothing here." Jason Wyngarde's words cut Eric to the bone. Was the miserable little man _mocking_ him? If so, he would regret it. But he had to admit, Wyngarde wasn't wrong. The orphanage looked as if a cyclone had hit it. It was rundown, its windows broken, rubble and rubbish strewn everywhere. No one had lived here for many months. The Brotherhood wandered around, looking wanly at the mess. Magneto sensed it wouldn't be long before they started looking at him with doubt in their eyes. He had to salvage _something_   from this fiasco.

"Quicksilver," he said in a rasp to the young mutant. "Search this entire area. Make sure that there's nothing unusual--or even alive--around here." Pietro nodded, and vanished in a blur. Almost before his absence had been noticed, he was back.

"Nothing, Magneto," he said, a thin smile on his face. "This place looks as dead as a plague zone."

Eric scowled. There _had_ been something here--something to do with Cyclops' past, his tenure here as an orphan. He _knew_ that there had been some secret here. But now--? He shut his eyes. Think. He must think. Before Charles, there had been--something. Eric had been putting the pieces together for years. Some secret that involved Scott Summers. And he thought he was on the verge, today, of discovering just what that was.

He shook his head. Well, that was now a matter for another day. Meanwhile, the records he had hoped to consult were irretrievably lost. And he was no further along in discovering the shadow that hung over all of them, all mutants. _Essex._ He had been getting more and more into focus for Eric. A whisper here, a scrap of information there, a trace of the man when he least expected it... Slowly, but surely, Eric was managing to compile some information about this human--for he was most assuredly _not_ a mutant--who was well over a century old, a contemporary of Darwin himself, who had been risen to a position above humanity by Apocalypse. No, Essex was not a mutant, but he was intimately involved with them. And he had plans for the mutants. Plans that involved Scott Summers. And that made Summers his, Magneto's, concern as well. And that was reason enough for a truce between the Brotherhood and the X-Men--just as much as the warnings from the individual whom he had recently visited. Wyngarde had not been entirely wrong when he cynically described it as a mutant version of the Nazi-Soviet Pact. Eric mentally shrugged. He would have to contact Charles soon. How much should he tell him? And how much, he suddenly wondered, would be a surprise to Charles, if he did?

No matter. He made a sudden decisive gesture, and the Brotherhood surrounded him. He looked on their faces, but saw no overt disrespect--not even from Wyngarde. _Especially_   from the miserable wretch Wyngarde. "Something has happened which I did not anticipate," he said honestly. "The man whom we seek has been a step ahead of me. I do not like having to admit this, but it is true. I shall quit underestimating him."

Wanda looked curiously at the rubble. "How long ago could this have happened, Magneto?" she asked. "This place looks like it has been a shell for a very long time. But if it was an orphanage, a state-sponsored institution...how could they have just left it like this? Wouldn't somebody have fixed it up by now?"

Eric scowled. That was a very good question, come to think of it. Essex had to be the answer, but _how?_   He merely waved a hand and said, "the actions of the humans in and of themselves are their concerns, Wanda. What matters to us is that the birds have flown the coop. Indeed, there _is_ nothing here. It's time for us to leave."

The Toad looked dissatisfied. "Is there no action we can take, Master?" he asked forlornly. "Nothing but to return to the boredom of our headquarters?"

Magneto felt astonished. The _Toad,_ questioning him! He _had_   let things slip! He snarled, and let loose a magnetic blast at the little man that left Toynbee whimpering on the ground, saying brokenly that he had meant no disrespect--no, surely not--please forgive him, Master--

The others paid no attention, having seen the spectacle too many times before. They just returned to their ship, and took off.


	22. Gathering Clouds

"Maria?"

"Yes, Jean?"

"I need to ask you a question."

"Surely." Maria was in her room, reading a collection of essays by Simone Weil. Jean, looking a little guilty, entered the room. And to Maria's astonishment, she had looked both ways before coming in. The girl didn't want anyone else to see her talking to her? Well, this _was_   something different--

Jean came right over to Maria, sat down on the bed next to her. "Maria..."

"Yes, Jean?" Maria said, still curious. "You can just say it, girl. I'm a good listener."

Jean took a deep breath. Maria panicked for a second. My God--she wasn't going to tell her she was pregnant, was she? Maria counted the days--yes, there _had_ been enough time since Scott's birthday--

But to Maria's enduring relief, Jean said something else entirely. "Maria--how do you do it so easily?"

"Do what, Red?"

"Make mischief," Jean said with a small smile. To Maria's total astonishment, Jean continued on: "You make it all look so easy. You tell all sorts of outlandish lies to the newspapers, and they print them and cause a scandal. And then you go and tell some more, before the first stories catch up with you. You're such a _natural._ If _I_   ever told a lie to a newspaper, I'd turn beet red and stammer and stutter and look as guilty as sin, and no one would believe me for a single second! How do you do it?"

Maria lay there on her bed, her mouth open, unable to believe what she was hearing. "Jean--you-- _you_ \--are asking me how to _lie?_ "

Jean frowned. "Well, not really. Not _lie_ lie. Nothing nasty or malicious. But darn it, I want to make some trouble! I'm tired of being goody-goody all the time. I want to be a brat. I want to be a little less predictable. Especially for Scott." A cruel smile played around her lips--or at least, Maria thought with a sigh, Jean undoubtedly _thought_   it was a cruel smile. All it did was make her look even prettier than she usually was. Well, no point in telling her _that--_

"Jean, have you flipped your lid?"

"No, no. I've thought this through very carefully. I want to get Scott."

"What you'll get is a good spanking, Jean Grey. And you'll deserve it!"

Her smile got even "crueler". "Well--you have to take _some_ risks in this life, Maria. What will be, will be. But really--I think I have some potential here as a Bad Girl. Remember my conversation with 'Anna', at the Coffee-a-Go-Go? About our so-called adventures in Annandale? I felt right at home then, and the poor boys' eyes were popping right out of their heads! That's why I need _your_ help. You're such a natural! Between us, we can cause untold misery and destruction."

Maria considered this. The poor kid had a bee in her bonnet. She was clearly going to go ahead with this, whatever it turned out to be. On her own, she'd get into trouble. Well--more trouble than she was counting on, anyway. Maria felt a pang of sympathy. She couldn't let that happen. Best to take her by the hand and guide her through the rough spots. And besides--the girl _did_ have potential. She had held her own with "Anna", at that. Hey--this might be fun--

"OK, then" she said in a conspiratorial whisper. "Scott. We're going to get him. The question is, how?"

"Well, I actually have some ideas about that..." And the two girls spent a considerable time together, plotting their strategy before unleashing it upon an unsuspecting world.

* * *

Forge felt tired, but that didn't matter. He was thoroughly pleased with himself as he faced Mr Handy in his office. He had the satisfaction that only a difficult job well done could bring to a man.

"Well, Mr Handy, I'm pleased to tell you that the job is finished."

Mr Handy smiled very broadly indeed. "Well, now, Mr Forge, that's the best news I've heard in a month of moonshinin'. You actually have the--apparatus--finished, according to specifications?"

"I certainly do," Forge said, voice proud. "Would you care to accompany me to my laboratory area, Mr Handy, so I can show you?" Mr Handy was more than amenable to this suggestion, so that soon the two men were in one of Forge's labs. He walked over to a table, and on it was a large apparatus shaped something like a gun. It had a large nozzle in front, and that tapered to the middle, where there was a control panel. then it tapered some more, so that as one held the apparatus, it flowed into another smaller nozzle that faced the person wielding it.

"The larger nozzle," Forge said, "aims at the mutant you want, and temporarily steals their power. Then--" and he showed Handy which buttons on the panel did which specific task-- "you push _this_ button, and the person the 'gun' is aimed at will have established within themselves what I call a 'biological matrix'. This matrix will mask their DNA long enough to mimic the mutant powers the 'gun' steals from whichever mutant you're pointing at. In this case, I've arranged matters so that the first 'matrix' is based upon the DNA of Marvel Girl, as requested." He pointed to a small window on the control panel. There, indeed, the name "Marvel Girl" topped a list. Beneath it were listed the names of the other X-Men, and the members of the Brotherhood, and Fred Dukes, and the Unusciones, father and daughter.

"You have one more shot--again, as requested," Forge said. "This means, in plain English, that the wielder of this machine can steal for a short time--no more than ten minutes--the powers of _two_ specific mutants. One of them must be Marvel Girl--as per request. But the other can be any one on this list here--Charles Xavier, Cyclops, Angel, Iceman, Beast, Shift, Magneto, Scarlet Witch, Quicksilver, Mastermind, Toad, Blob, Unus, and Carmella Unuscione. Whomever your client desires."

Handy looked carefully at the machine, and picked it up with Forge's approval. "Well, hooiee!" he cried out exultantly. "Mr Forge, I do a bit of huntin' myself, and I don't mind telling you that this here is the purtiest little thing for pickin' off prey I've ever seen. It even _feels_   right."

Forge smiled. "Well, Mr Handy, I aim to please." Handy laughed appreciatively.

" 'Aim to please'!" That's a good one, it is, Mr Forge." He looked around. "I presume you've got somethin' to keep this baby in?"

"Indeed," Forge said. He folded the "gun", and it moved together into a smaller arrangement. He produced a leather box that looked like a piece of luggage, and the apparatus folded into it snugly.

"There," Forge said, handing the box to Handy. "It's as simple as that, Mr Handy."

Back in the office, Handy got out his checkbook and wrote out the second part of his ten million dollar payment. "And worth every penny, Mr Forge, I must say. My client will be as delighted as I am, I'm sure."

"I'm glad to hear it," Forge said, and indeed, he _was_ glad. With this money, the rebuilding of Eagle Plaza could begin in earnest. "Oh, and Mr Handy--"

"Yes, Mr Forge?" Handy said, still fingering the box.

"I know, of course, that you must retain total confidentiality regarding your client."

"Well, of course, Mr Forge. That goes without sayin'."

"Of course. But. If the day should ever come when you can tell me anything about this matter--even if it's twenty years down the road--I'd appreciate it. I must confess, I'm simply _dying_ of curiosity."

Mr Handy pondered this. "Well, Mr Forge, I can't of course make any promises. But I'll pass along your request to my client. Then it'll be up to him."

"That's fair enough." And Mr Handy left then with the box, and Forge leaned back and relaxed. This was his way of working--weeks, months, of intense effort, the rest of the world hardly existing. Then a time of total rest and recuperation, recharging his mental and physical energies. This had been maybe the toughest job he could ever remember pulling off. He needed a complete change. Maybe the Bahamas? Or the Riviera? Or Cancun? Whatever. Right now, though, he'd get about twenty hours of uninterrupted sleep.

_Pity about Marvel Girl. Well, at least the process won't kill her. I fixed_ _that_ _problem. She won't be kicking her heels, but she'll live. Wonder why this client of Handy's is so interested in_ _her_ _? Maybe I'll find out some day._

* * *

Charles Xavier looked at the entrance to his study. "Thank you for coming, Maria." He nodded, and she entered and sat down in front of his desk. Charles had a pile of newspapers on the desk, copies of the _Daily Bugle_   over the past few weeks. He thought Maria seemed slightly nervous as she looked at them.

"Maria," he said cautiously, "I believe we need to have a discussion about certain matters."

"Yes, Professor," Maria said, very quietly. She was looking at the floor as she spoke.

"Maria--I hope this School builds character in my students. That is certainly one of its purposes."

"Yes, Professor," she said to the floor.

"And honesty is a part of character, Maria. A very important part."

"Yes, Professor."

"Maria--to be honest--I am a little disappointed in certain interviews you have given to the press--especially the _Daily Bugle_ \--since you joined the team."

"Yes, Professor."

Charles sighed to himself. He had to do this just right. Make his meaning clear without curbing her natural enthusiasm or vivacity. Or make her feel more than ever like the Mutant Madwoman in the Attic. And above all, spoil everything by breaking into uncontrollable laughter as he read the papers.

He picked up a paper. "It began innocently enough," he said, brandishing the paper at her, "at the time of the fight with Unus, when you were just coming to the public's attention. Claiming that mutants couldn't be burned by the sun. I'm not quite sure where _that_   came from..."

Maria looked up. "Well, sir, a little boy asked me if I was a Negro. I said no, and he asked something about Jean's light skin, so I figured it would be easier all around if we mutants just didn't have certain--well, problems--that humans did."

Charles nodded, as if what she said made even cursory sense. "Very well...I'll accept that, although of course it was not the truth. But then--" he picked up another paper-- "we have this story. That mutants naturally have more--enthusiastic--love lives than humans."

"Well, sir, do we _know_ that that isn't true?" she said, eyes wide open. "After all, Scott and Jean are really our first data points, as it were. And if _they're_   any indication--"

Charles shut his eyes for a second. He was very nearly on the brink of that laughter he was afraid of showing. And when you came right down to it--watching Scott and Jean-- Was it possible that this was an area that merited further study?

No. No, even if in the unlikely event there was any truth in it, it was a matter for another day. "We shall see, Maria. But you had no reason to believe it when you gave that interview. And the way you hinted--without quite saying--that Cyclops and Marvel Girl were your source for your theory...that was indiscreet, to say the least."

"Yes, sir," she said. "But while Scott might have been embarrassed by it, I don't believe that Jean was."

"That is not the issue, Maria."

"No, sir."

He picked up another paper. "And here--the now-infamous story of J Jonah Jameson himself being a mutant. As the real reason for his antipathy to super-heroes." He put the paper down, and looked at her severely. "Maria--the mischief this story has caused can hardly be estimated. It has made Jameson a laughing stock, which--as I know--has wounded his pride badly. It has made him turn from Spider-Man to _you_ as his chief nemesis in his paper--though it has not, of course, prevented him from publishing more of your 'scoops'. Why did you do this?"

"Because he's such a bigoted, ignorant--jerk--" Charles sensed that "jerk" was not the word Maria had been ready to use, and he was glad she had changed her mind-- "that I wanted to give him a taste of his own medicine."

"In other words, you created this story out of whole cloth in order to settle a personal grudge against him."

"Yes, sir." Charles blinked; he had not expected such honesty from the girl. But then, she was a very honest young woman. He almost laughed again. What on earth was he thinking?

He picked up another paper. "Unfortunately, it gets even worse. Here--you say that all mutants have 'natural rhythmic abilities'. That we can all dance like Fred Astaire--or Ginger Rogers--and can keep perfect pitch in our heads. What on Earth was _this_ about? Do we really wish to spread stereotypes about 'natural rhythm', Maria, like those which are spoken ignorantly about Negroes?"

Maria had just the slightest look of stubbornness on her face. "Well, sir, just look at _us._ I _do_ have perfect natural pitch. Jean can play the piano, and sing, like an angel. And speaking of natural rhythm--Warren _is_ a great dancer. So is Scott. Bobby will pass. And Hank knows every musician in the world. Don't you think that's a pretty good data set for a tentative theory?"

Charles nodded, trying not to think of how excellent a dancer _he_   had been before his encounter with Lucifer. "That's a good response, Maria. It almost makes sense."

She smiled proudly. "I do my best, Professor."

He bit his tongue, because he was very nearly undone at that moment. Instead, he cleared his throat and went on. "Then we come to this--Magneto is the real father of Quicksilver and the Scarlet Witch. I cannot imagine anything that will anger Magneto more. Might I ask where you obtained _this_   information from, Maria?"

"Well, doesn't it make sense, Professor?"

"Many things might 'make sense', Maria. That doesn't make them true."

Maria took a deep breath. "Well, then, sir, consider it like the CIA would. Don't they talk about 'disinformation'? To put your opponents off-balance, make them think? That's all I was trying to do here."

Charles smiled. "Very good, Maria. That almost qualifies as a defense."

"But not quite?"

"No, not quite."

"You don't think it might be true, sir?"

"I should be astonished were it true." He paused a second and asked: "Might I ask why _that_ particular rumor came into your head, by the way?":

She shrugged. "It just seemed right, Professor. I _want_   it to be true."

"That's hardly an adequate reason for telling the story to a newspaper."

"No, sir."

"Quite so. And now--" he brought yet another paper out of the pile-- "we have _this_. That the government is planning to attack the mutants, preparing concentration camps for them. That they are preparing 'secret weapons' with which to do so." Charles hesitated. That discussion with Henry Pym still disturbed him. "Maria--why did you say this?"

"Well, sir, isn't it true? Don't you take it for granted that _something_   like this _is_   true?"

"I do not take it for granted." _But I do not dismiss it, either. I must speak to Duncan soon._ _He_ _would know if anything like this is in the wind._

"But you don't think it's impossible, Professor." This was not a question. He merely shrugged.

"All governments and militaries create contingency plans, Maria. _We_ have some ourselves. That does not mean that the government of the United States is preparing a mutant Dachau for us at this moment."

"Maybe not, sir. But is it a bad thing to make the public _wonder_ if they are?"

Charles thought hard about that answer. _Was_ it a bad thing? He finally, almost reluctantly, shook his head. "Maria. We cannot have members of the X-Men deliberately feeding false information to the public."

She sighed. "No, sir."

"I do not wish to discourage your imagination, or your considerable natural vivaciousness. But we must find different outlets for it than this," he said, indicating the papers.

"Yes, sir," she said.

"And you must start telling the truth."

She smiled. "A foolish consistency is the hobgoblin of little minds."

Charles smiled in return. "Very good, Maria. You've read your Emerson. That has no bearing upon the point at issue."

"No, sir."

"Very well. Do we understand each other?"

"We do, sir."

And thus the interview concluded. And as soon as she left, Charles Xavier finally was able to let the laughter out that he had keeping in--at considerable cost to himself--all through the meeting.

* * *

Frank Gianelli tried to keep his breathing under control. Jonah had summoned him again to his office--for a progress report. And on the subject Jonah was obsessed with these days--Shift--Frank had nothing. At least, nothing he could tell Jameson.

Betty nodded Frank into the Presence, no jokes today. His heart sank. He smiled stoically at her, and walked into the office.

Jameson was sitting behind his desk. He made no show of hospitality, or courtesy. "What have you got on her?" he said right away. Frank noticed a tick above Jonah's left eye. He took a deep breath.

"About Shift herself, sir--nothing."

Jameson was very quiet. "I was under the impression, Gianelli, that I had assigned you to find out everything--anything--you could about her." The very softness of the voice made the hairs stand up on Frank's head. He knew he was at a crossroads in his career. The slightest mistake--

The hell with it. In for a penny, in for a pound. Jump in at the deep end. "My researches have taken me in a different direction, Mr Jameson."

"Indeed." Jameson was building towards an explosion, Frank could tell. But he wasn't quite there yet. "And what 'direction' might _that_ be, Gianelli?"

"Sir--do you know the name 'Wilson Fisk'?"

Jameson was as silent as a statue for some period of time, as Frank hardly dared to breathe. Finally, Jameson grabbed the edge of his desk, his knuckles turning red. Frank could tell that he was in the grip of some deep emotion. "Where did you hear that name, Gianelli?" he asked, not so quiet now.

"I recently interviewed him, Mr Jameson," Frank said. "About--mutants."

"You interviewed him," Jameson said, staring at Frank. " _You_ interviewed Wilson Fisk." Suddenly Jameson blinked, and relaxed a little. "Foswell."

Frank took a deep breath, a little relieved. "Yes, sir."

"That makes sense," Jameson said. "Yes. _He_ might think he owed you an interview." Jameson stared at Frank again. "And how did you get onto Fisk?"

Frank shrugged. "A source, sir. One who felt that Fisk was someone who might know things."

And Frank was astonished at what happened next, because J Jonah Jameson actually leaned back in his chair and laughed out loud. "He thought that Wilson Fisk might 'know things'!" Jameson laughed again. "Well, Gianelli, if that isn't rich. He thought Wilson Fisk might know things!"

Frank waited for Jameson to finish. He did, and looked hard at Frank. "Gianelli--it isn't much of a secret what I think of Spider-Man. Or Shift."

"No, sir."

"Hell, no. So you'll get the significance of what I'm about to say when I tell you that compared to Wilson Fisk, _they're_ angels. I believe that these super-heroes are a menace to society. That their very existence constitutes a threat. But I swear to God, I'd call for a coalition with Spider-Man, the X-Men, anyone, if together we could get Fisk. Gianelli--that man is a menace to the entire city. To the nation!"

"I agree, sir."

"You do, eh?" Jonah said, looking at Frank unsympathetically. "So he impressed you?"

"He did, Mr Jameson. I think he's a dangerous man."

"So you think Wilson Fisk is a dangerous man," Jameson said carefully. "Hear me, O World! Frank Gianelli, the second coming of Walter Winchell, thinks that Wilson Fisk is a dangerous man!" He sighed, and put his head in his hands. "Tell me what the hell this is all about, Gianelli. Now."

And Frank did, not telling him Pierce's name, but giving Jameson the rest of the story--the warnings about the robots called the Sentinels, his being directed to Fisk, and Fisk telling him about that mysterious--and deadly--entity called the Master Mold. Jameson listened to this in total silence.

"Well," he said. "And well again. This is a fine kettle of fish."

"You think there's a story here, Mr Jameson?"

"Don't you?" Jameson snapped at the younger man.

"Of course," Frank said.

"Good. That means you've passed Cub Reporting 101--you can smell shit when it crosses your path. All right, Gianelli--we've got the goddam US government by the balls. This lunatic Trask seems to have them by the balls, too. And if we screw up even slightly, _we're_ the ones who'll be held by the balls. You understand the situation?"

"Absolutely, sir."

"Damned straight. Now--we are going to get everything we can on this story. Before we print a goddam syllable, we're going to have it nailed down ten ways to Sunday. There can't be a slip-up. We _have_   to have this right."

Frank cleared his throat.. "Mr Jameson--"

"Yes, Gianelli?" Jonah snarled at him.

"Our position," Frank said delicately. "Are we _against_   these Sentinels?"

Jameson stared hard at Frank for a long time. "I can't believe you asked me that question, Gianelli."

"Well, sir, with your feelings towards the X-Men--especially Shift--I wondered--"

"--If I might be supporting a bunch of genocidal robots who are going to be unleashed on fellow citizens of the United States for the accident of their birth?"

"Well, sir, when you put it like that..."

Jameson softened, to Frank's amazement. "Look, son--I know I bark pretty loudly sometimes. I don't like the idea of Spider-Man or the X-Men operating without legal sanctions--"

Frank cleared his throat. He couldn't let that pass. "Actually, sir, my researches seem to indicate that the government has a pretty good idea of what the X-Men are doing. That they _aren't_   completely off Uncle Sam's leash."

Jameson frowned. "Now, that's interesting, Gianelli. I _didn't_   know that. That makes this whole mess worse, if true. Son--it's like Fisk. Whatever I think of the X-Men, Nazi tactics against them are a million times worse." He sighed. "Yes, of course we're opposed to this. Whatever it is. You find out whatever you can. And I might use--other--means at my disposal, at my end."

"Mac Gargan?" Frank asked without thinking, and was astonished to see Jonah's tick flare up worse than ever.

"Now why did you mention _his_   name, Gianelli?" Frank paused. Come to think of it, he hadn't seen Gargan around for awhile--was he on some special assignment--?

"No reason, Mr Jameson. It's just that you've used him on tough beats before."

Jameson took a deep breath. "Well, he won't be on this one." And Frank could sense, just at the level of his hearing, Jonah say, "never again", to himself. Frank was very curious indeed, but knew better than to ask questions.

"Well, that's the position, Gianelli. You go and keep digging. The X-Men--and yes, Shift, too--are secondary matters for the moment."

"Yes, sir," Frank said, relieved. He knew when he had been dismissed, and walked out, passing Betty and giving her a wink. Now he could dig his teeth into some real reporting.

* * *

Fred Duncan gulped, and took a deep breath. Being summoned to the office of J Edgar Hoover was not an experience any FBI agent looked forward to. Too many things could go wrong, and almost nothing could go right. Well, there wasn't a damned thing he could do about it. So--making very sure indeed his tie was immaculate--he walked very slowly but deliberately into the seat of power in the Bureau. ( _Don't embarrass the Bureau._ That was the only rule that _no_   FBI agent _ever_ broke.)

Miss Gandy waved Fred in, and he walked up to the modest-sized desk of the Director of the FBI. He was relieved to see that Clyde Tolson, the #2 man at the Bureau and Hoover's long-time male "companion", wasn't present. Duncan and Tolson did not get along. He couldn't think of a reason for this, but so it had always been. He looked around. There were the file-cabinets where, everybody in Washington knew, Hoover held compromising information on anyone who counted in the nation's capital. And he never hesitated to use that information.

"Agent Duncan," Hoover said severely. Fred did not take this personally. Hoover said "good morning" to his chauffeur in a severe tone of voice. Hoover looked his age, Duncan thought--not quite seventy, his hold on office extended by one President after another. None of them dared to fire him.

"Mr Director," Fred said in a carefully even tone. You would not guess from either man's voice that their association went back almost twenty years, and that as FBI agents went he was close to the Director.

"Have a seat, Agent," Hoover said, indicating a straight wooden chair near his desk. Duncan sat down with alacrity and looked at the Director. Who was squinting at him hard.

"Agent Duncan," Hoover said, "is the President of the United States seriously going to approve Trask's plan?"

Fred cleared his throat. "Well, sir, as I said in my report on the White House meeting, he certainly indicated that such was the case."

Hoover stared at him--anyone else would say that the stare was unfriendly, but Duncan knew that Hoover had no other way to look at people. "Yes, yes, Agent Duncan. But what I want to know is--what did you _think?_   Was Johnson being cute? Is he stringing Trask along? And what about the others--at least, what about Richards? Pym is a light-weight. Stark--" Hoover went red-- "is a sexual pervert who screws anything in a skirt. Or I should say, he _used_ to. That has changed, and I don't know why. No matter. Dr Darkhome--" Hoover hesitated. "I shall not discuss her. But Richards is _not_   a pervert. He has the opportunity and means to be one, for sure. But his devotion to Miss Storm is absolute, and very admirable." Hoover shook his head. "In any event, those are the two whom I need information about, Duncan--the President, and Richards."

Fred took a mental deep breath. Here he was--analyzing the President of the United States! He had to walk on eggshells, and was just glad he didn't have to talk about the _previous_ President. Hoover's opinions concerning _him_ were well-known to everyone in the FBI. "Mr Director, I firmly believe that the President _thinks_ he is in command of the situation. He explicitly ordered Trask not to proceed without his--the President's--direct approval. Mr Director--I believe that Trask was lying when he agreed to this."

Hoover's expression did not change. "I agree, Duncan. Trask thinks he's pulling a fast one. Well, maybe he can with the President. He cannot with me."

Fred did not comment on this, knowing that there was no correct thing to say. Hoover tapped his desk, thinking. "Perhaps," he finally said, "this can work to our advantage. Johnson will naturally turn to us as guarantors of Trask's intentions. Perhaps we can even infiltrate his laboratory. As things stand, Duncan, no one in the Bureau has the slightest notion of what Trask is doing."

"How about the CIA?" Duncan said, going out on a limb but needing the information. "Or SHIELD? Do either of _them_ have anything they'd be willing to share with us, sir?"

Hoover frowned, as he did whenever he contemplated the unfortunate existence of the competing agencies. "No," he said flatly. "Nothing. And I have asked. And more than asked." Fred gulped. This was a clear reference to Hoover's long-rumored infiltration of the CIA and SHIELD with his own people. Suddenly--as was his habit--he changed the subject.

"And what of Xavier?" he asked Fred. "Does _he_ have the slightest suspicion of the existence of the Sentinels?"

"No, sir," Duncan answered. "And sir--" Here he was, risking his career. Well, he had loyalty to Charles. Que sera, sera. Hoover frowned even more fiercely than usual as Duncan added: "Sir--I feel badly about this. Charles Xavier is an American patriot, and a decorated war veteran. He has helped the Bureau many times. You remember the incident with the Vanisher in Washington. And Magneto at Cape Citadel. The X-Men are very worthy young people, mutant or not. I work closely with them. Should we give them a hint as to what's happening?"

Hoover was silent for a very long time. Finally, he said carefully: "Fred--" Duncan almost fainted. Whenever Hoover called you by your first name, you were either about to have your career ended, or greatly enhanced-- "the fact that you feel loyalty to Xavier and his students is a very good thing. I approve of loyalty, and I approve of it especially to those who have been loyal to the Bureau. I want you to know that."

"Thank you, sir."

Hoover was silent again for awhile. "I was the _only_ -man in high circles during the War who opposed the relocation camps for the Japanese-Americans. Did you know that, Duncan?"

Fred nodded. "Yes, sir."

"Indeed. I thought it was unconstitutional. How many people who spit at my name realize _that_ , I wonder?" he said softly--for him. "I am not an ogre, Agent Duncan. I do _not_   want to see this Bureau become a national police force. I never have. I feel this would be a black day for American liberty, should we ever see a national police force."

"Yes, sir," was all Duncan dared to say.

"Now Xavier--" Hoover shuffled some papers on his desk. "He is a friend of Oppenheimer. And Martin Luther King." Duncan gulped again. Hoover's views on King were known to everyone in the Bureau. He had to be careful here.

"Yes, sir. Also to Albert Schweitzer, and Edward Teller, and Reed Richards. And to many distinguished Americans from all walks of life, and all political persuasions."

Hoover nodded. "Yes, yes. Of course." He seemed distracted. "Richards--you were going to tell me about Richards, Duncan."

Fred cleared his throat. "Yes, sir. I thought that Dr Richards was rather quiet in the meeting, sir. He didn't argue his points with great passion. Unlike Dr Pym, or most of all Dr Trask." Fred hesitated. "Mr Director--I think Richards was genuinely unsure of his ground. He does _not_   believe in these 'Sentinels', and he certainly does not believe that the X-Men, certainly, are any sort of menace. But he had _something_ on his mind."

Hoover almost smiled. "Excellent, Fred. That's the kind of observation I was hoping for from you. And that helps _me_." Hoover gestured to his window overlooking Washington. "There are so many desperate decisions out there, Duncan. Life-and-death decisions, regarding Godless Communism. The corruption of our youth by drugs, and promiscuous sex, and jungle music. And God help us, alien presences on our world. They are not rumors, they are true."

Duncan nodded. "I know, sir. It's hard to believe."

"Indeed it is. And in our time, we've learned that we share the planet with another intelligent race that lives beneath the sea. They are not numerous, compared with us. But neither was Nazi Germany, compared to the whole world. And look what happened _there._ The Atlanteans have actually attacked the United States--and might have been holding New York City to this day, if not for Richards."

"Yes, sir," Fred answered, beginning to see where Hoover was going.

"And Richards, of course, is at the heart of the defense of the Earth against these aliens. These 'Skrulls'." Duncan nodded again.

"Duncan--Reed Richards is accumulating more power to himself than any single civilian should. So much goes through _his_ hands. Perhaps I shouldn't be saying this, since so many have made similar accusations regarding _me_. But Richards is genuinely a rogue agent. The Avengers, whatever you think of them, at least have the sanction of the NSA. And thank God for it. Who knows what this 'Thor' individual really is, anyway? Whoever he is, he certainly has no real loyalty to the United States of America. But the NSA--for reasons known only to themselves--have seen fit to give him a security clearance, high enough to give him access to every secret the United States has. They have done similarly with Iron Man, of whom we have no knowledge whatever except that Stark vouches for him. But in the case of Richards--"

Hoover shook his head. "Duncan--Richards is virtually a law unto himself. He takes actions that affect everyone on Earth, with not so much as a by-your-leave to any responsible authority. The fact that they have been good decisions, 'right' decisions, is a blessing, but ultimately neither here nor there."

"Yes, sir," Duncan said cautiously.

"So when you tell me that Richards has 'something on his mind' in this meeting, I take this very seriously. And I wonder--could Richards be working with Trask?"

Duncan was shocked. This idea had literally never occurred to him. "I can't believe that, sir. He seemed genuinely aghast at what Trask was proposing."

"Perhaps so, Duncan, perhaps so," Hoover said, not convinced. "Duncan--do _you_   trust Xavier?"

Duncan nodded firmly. "Absolutely, sir. I'd trust him with my life."

Hoover looked squarely at Duncan. "Another good answer, Fred. And for now, I am trusting you. Which is why I am going to permit you to hint--hint only, I say--to Xavier what Trask is doing. Duncan--the last thing this country needs right now is a pogrom against the mutants. There is too much other tension out there. Trask--" Hoover looked dissatisfied. "Trask will have to be stopped somehow. I do not know how. We cannot very well just invade his compound with the 101st Airborne and arrest him. If the government were to intervene--or at least, _seem_ to be intervening--quite that blatantly on the side of the mutants, the backlash would be terrible." He crumpled up a paper, threw it down on the floor. "It's a mess is what it is, Duncan."

"I couldn't agree more, Mr Director."

"There _are_   mutants who are walking nightmares. I fear that the Sentinels would be a popular idea, if put to a vote. I am myself not 100% convinced that we shouldn't have _some_   ultimate line of defense, should the bad mutants get--well, worse."

Duncan said nothing. Hoover didn't seem to notice. "Well, we shall see about Richards. We know more about his actions than he suspects. Even if he is _not_ working with Trask--and I shall trust your judgment there for the moment, Fred--he has _some_ ulterior motive here. But at heart, you are correct." He looked Fred right in the eyes. "Xavier and his X-Men _have_   deserved well of their country. I, at least, am not prepared to see them put into a camp--or worse--because someone has invented some robots."

Duncan merely nodded. Hoover smiled tightly.

"So make your hint, Agent Duncan. _Only_ a hint. I shall have to deal with this more thoroughly with the President. That's all."

Fred Duncan left the office, feeling glad he still had his head on his shoulders. Hoover had called him Fred _four_   times during this meeting. That was unprecedented. Could he dare to believe it was a good sign?


	23. After the Ball Was Over

Chapter Twenty-Three

* * *

Eric Magnus Lenhsherr had a headache. Usually, physical pain was a minor annoyance that he would simply ignore. But this pain was not merely physical. It was the pain of humiliation. It occurred every time he thought of Maria Gianelli. Mocking him! At that first meeting. And even in the press--!

Wanda and Pietro. His children. How _dare_ that creature embarrass _him_ that way! If Wyngarde's suggestion of a mutant Nazi-Soviet Pact were to come true, one of Eric's terms to Charles would be putting Maria Gianelli in her place. And not in any "cute" manner, either. No--in a way that shamed her as she had shamed him. In a way that left scars in the girl.

He could see the smirks on the faces of the others--especially Pietro and Wyngarde. _They_ thought the story was funny. Funny! Eric would flay the skin off their bones if they ever so much as suggested to him that they took it seriously. He sighed. He wished Lila Cheney was within reach. _She_ understood him. But God alone knew where she might be in the Universe right now...

Enough. He could not tolerate this. The lack of action. He _had_ to do something, anything. He knew on some level that this was not a good state of mind to be contemplating action, but he didn't care. He thought of his options. Essex. He could continue to look for him. Or he could just take the Brotherhood and damned well raid the Mansion in Westchester, just for the sake of doing it. Discussing peace terms would be easier if they had an undisputed victory under their belts. And he could get a measure of revenge against the Gianelli girl.

The thought of his interview with a certain figure pulled him up short. No. This was not the time to be doing this. He and Charles would probably have to have some sort of understanding. A blatant, unprovoked attack on the Mansion wouldn't help that. But the girl...

Eric smiled to himself. He would lure the girl Maria into a trap. And he and the Brotherhood would teach _her_ a lesson. He would tell Charles that this was a matter of pride, that her disputing his honor had to be satisfied. Charles would not like it, but he would understand. And then, with that behind them, they could move forward.

* * *

Jean looked at herself in the mirror. She was wearing her green negligee, and examining her figure very carefully. Had she put on a little weight these past few months? Maybe. She knew she was still growing just a bit. She had been surprised to discover that she had grown half-an-inch in the last year--and was now exactly five foot, seven inches. And had gained eight pounds. Well, she seemed to be all right. She had known girls in Annandale who starved themselves if they so much as reached a size six--thin girls, pretty ones, who ended up looking like skeletons. One girl even threw up her food to make sure she didn't gain any weight. Jean shivered. Thank God she wasn't obsessed with her weight like _that._ She had natural curves, and gloried in them. No skeletons for her, thank you!

She made a seductive face, and imagined springing herself upon Scott looking like that. She looked again, and broke into laughter. My God, she had seen too many old movies! Whatever she was, she was not a vamp. No, she'd just have to be herself and do her best. In a few weeks, it would be her eighteenth birthday. That made a difference. Eighteen was so much more mature-sounding than seventeen. The difference between high school and college. Between being a girl and a young woman. She opened a drawer telekinetically, and floated a rubber across the room. She hovered it in front of her eyes. Was it time to make it official--to become a woman once and for all?

She was contemplating the matter when there came a knock on her door. She hurriedly put the rubber back and shut the drawer. "Who is it?" she called out.

" _Moi_ ," Maria called out.

"Oh. Come in, Maria." She forgot that Maria had never seen the negligee, a fact brought to her attention a moment later when she saw the look on Maria's face.

"Oh--my--God," she said softly. "Girl--have you been seeing Scott in _this?_ "

Jean tried to look stern. " _That,_ Maria Gianelli, is none of _your_ business."

"Jean--you don't understand. I'm in love! I've never been interested to lesbianism, but in your case, I'll make an excep--"

Maria was unable to complete her sentence, because Jean chose that moment to throw various items at her telekinetically. Maria laughed, said that this was a declaration of war, and extended her arms, trying to tickle Jean. Jean giggled and kept Maria away from her telekinetically. Maria smiled and said, my dear Miss Grey, just how long do you think you can hold back one so much stronger than you, and I'll accept your surrender right now, thank you. The battle ended in a stalemate when Jean just threw herself down on her bed and said fine, she'd surrender if Maria would, too, and Maria found this amenable. She sat on the edge of the bed and gave Jean a stern look.

"No, Red, but really--this thing you're wearing--is it part of what we're planning for Scott?"

"Oh, no!" Jean said. "Maria--I have worn this with him. Of course I have. But those moments are too special for me to spoil them. It'd be pretty terrible, wouldn't it, if our plans involved something like that?"

Maria smiled as tenderly as she could. "Yeah, Jeannie, it would. I'm glad." She paused. "But you know--you really _do_   look stunning in that. Scott is very, very lucky."

"I hope so," Jean said, blushing slightly.

"And now--seriously--what _are_   we going to do about him, anyway? We've discussed various options. We need to start a serious strategic plan."

Jean nodded earnestly. "Absolutely. Something that's funny--maybe even a little naughty--but that _he'll_ laugh at, when we pull the con. Something good."

"Hear, hear! Kid--those are just the words I've been hoping to hear you say."

"So, what do we do, anyway, Maria? I'm putting myself in your hands."

Maia blinked. "Red--that might be too much of a temptation for me."

Jean looked at her, and laughed. "Okay, then! I'm acquiescing to your greater expertise in these matters. How do we proceed?"

"Well, I think I _do_ have some definite ideas, now that we've thought about it a bit. Let's see if you agree--" And they plotted Scott's downfall for a good amount of time, Maria amazed by how totally unself-conscious Jean was wearing that damned green negligee.

* * *

Maria walked through the streets of Hell's Kitchen in the cool gray light of a November afternoon. People watched her as she went along, some in awe, others with excited voices, a few, alas, with fear in their eyes. A few children asked her for autographs, and she had to refuse because she tended to break pencils when she tried to comply, and also because the Professor had asked her to try to be "duly modest" in this regard. She sighed--dammit, she _liked_ signing the name "Shift". It made her feel human--and she smiled to herself, as she did every time that word came to mind.

But she wasn't here on any particular business. The others had some time off, and she had been allowed to go into the city and do some random "patrolling". The Professor was getting more and more--well, "concerned" wasn't the word he used, but puzzled--by the near-disappearance of the Brotherhood. He was worried that this presaged some particularly devilish plot on Magneto's part. He had been giving the team more time than ever in the Danger Room. Maria felt that she was holding her own now with the others there, but she also felt a need for action.

There was a scurrying sound in an alley--she turned into it. Had there been something--?

_What the hell?_

Maria found herself in a ballroom, sometime in the 1890s, if the clothes were any indication. She looked down on herself--yes, she was wearing a 1890s belle-of-the-ball outfit herself, complete with bare shoulders and--as she soon felt--a corset underneath. Her hands--! They were _human._ _She_ was human. Anna? Was she "Anna" right now? She felt her face with her gloved right hand. It was smooth, and she touched her cheeks, her mouth, her nose--all "normal". All the way they should be...

Hardly daring to breathe, she saw a mirror at the edge of the vast ballroom. Pardoning herself to the dancers and those surrounding the dance floor, she ran as quickly as decorum permitted to the mirror, looked at the reflection of the girl there. No--it _wasn't_ Anna! She didn't know this girl, who it was supposed to be. This girl was pretty, but she looked--how _did_ she look? The hair was dark brown, not Anna's blue-black. The features were a bit blunter than Anna's, though still pretty. There was, she realized with a shock, a hint of the Scarlet Witch in those features.

And then her memory seemed to fade, and the reality of the situation washed over her like a wave. Who was "The Scarlet Witch"? Did it matter? She was young, she was pretty, she felt totally at home and at ease here at Sir Jason's party. Was the Prince of Wales really going to be here, as rumor had it? She looked around. Yes--there was Oscar Wilde. She had never met him, but knew his reputation--for several things, she thought with a delicious sense of scandal. She adjusted the _decolletage_ of her dress slightly, so as to show a little less. She _was_ much too shy, she thought with a sense of hopelessness. Wasn't she _ever_ going to grow up...?

The orchestra started a waltz, and Maria, still standing by the mirror, looked around. No one was going to ask her to dance. She supposed she was too tall for most men to feel comfortable with. Well, there was nothing unusual about that. But she loved to dance. All of her kind loved to dance. ("Her kind"? Who were "her kind"? Oh--it didn't matter...) And then the situation was saved.

"May I have this dance, Lady Maria?" Maria had to catch her breath. Sir Jason himself! So tall, so handsome, with those whiskers framing his face, dressed so exquisitely. She flushed, and he took her out onto the dance floor. Sir Jason of course was nearly old enough to be her father, and Maria felt nothing but a friendly paternal interest beneath his considerable gallantry. They danced well together, he meshing with her, not noticing her height, indeed using it to their advantage, overshadowing all the other dancers. Soon--to her embarrassment and total delight--she realized that they had the floor to themselves, waltzing together as one, making their own exquisite music together. The night might have been invented for them. Maria was at the center of attention, and ecstatically happy.

* * *

"You're laying it on a little thick, aren't you, Wyngarde?" Magneto said to the man called Mastermind. Wyngarde merely shrugged.

"You said to make it convincing," he said, a little distracted. "You said to make the girl feel special, make her happy. Make the illusion _mean_   something, so she'd feel all the worse when it was over. Well, esteemed leader, that is precisely what I am doing. And if you please, I need to concentrate."

Magneto just shrugged, and folded his arms, watching. Wyngarde was utilizing just enough of his power to permit Magneto to see the scene himself. The rest of his attention was on the girl. When he really cut loose like this, using his power was a greater experience than anything else--sex, alcohol, anything. This was what he had been put on this earth to do, and he greatly enjoyed his work. Did Bernstein, he wonder, feel like this, conducting a symphony orchestra? Was this how Picasso felt, creating a masterpiece? He chuckled to himself. He was as much of an artist as they were! He was the Shakespeare of _his_   craft! Not for the first time, he wondered if there was any way he could create illusions that could somehow be mass-produced the way records were. Create illusions for specific tastes. He could make millions--no, _billions._ He'd be the richest man in the world.

Then he shook his head. No, such thinking was distracting him. Back to business.

* * *

The dance over, Maria went back to her seat. Her card had been empty, but now, after the example of Sir Jason, a number of young men--the taller ones, she noticed with pleasure--were requesting similar service. She was delighted to accommodate as many as she could. Maybe--and the thought made her feel pleasurably guilty--maybe she wasn't necessarily unmarriageable, after all. She knew how her guardian warned her against hoping this--a girl of her height would find it very difficult. Well, perhaps it could still happen. She was still very young yet--

She looked around for her guardian. Was he here? Yes--there--by Lady Wanda. Wanda looked something like Maria--so much so, that there were rumors of a blood relation. Maria paid no attention to these rumors. Her guardian, Lord Magnus, was very tall, even taller than Sir Jason, and exceptionally handsome with his premature white hair. Maria had always hoped against hope that he might regard her as something more than his ward. But that no doubt was too much to hope for...

She saw the Count Pietro--young, dashing, a very fast dancer--over by the fireplace, talking with several rapt young ladies. And there, in the shadows--Lord Magnus' servant, Toynbee, whom Maria never liked or trusted. The way he could follow you with his eyes--! It didn't require much imagination to know what _he_   was thinking. She shivered, wishing the Lord Magnus would dismiss Toynbee from his service.

As she waited for the next dance to begin, Maria occupied herself with watching the people in the room. She saw the young and beautiful--but evil--Lady Jean Grey over across the way. She had a drink in her hand, and noticed Maria watching her. She gave a cruel smile of acknowledgment and made a mock toast to her with the drink. Maria's mouth became a tight line, and she looked away. Lady Jean had a notorious reputation. And over there--yes, that was young Summers, back from some colonial war or other. There was a bandage around his eyes, and there were rumors about permanent damage to his vision. Lady Jean, Maria noted with disgust, was looking speculatively at the wretched young man--as if she were considering him as her next conquest. The slut! And over there--Lord Worthington. As handsome as an angel. It was said that his reputation with women was as notorious as Lady Jean's was with men. Maria wondered why they didn't plot each other's ruin.

There, too, was the young Robert Drake. The Polar explorer. He was said to be raising funds for an attempt upon the North Pole the following summer. Then there was Dr McCoy, the young biologist from Cambridge. It was said that he was as brilliant as Darwin himself. He noticed Maria watching him, and gave her a warm smile, which made her feel good. There was something about Dr McCoy she had always appreciated...

And of course, all by himself, was Sir Charles Xavier. Sitting in a wheelchair. It was said that he had been paralyzed by ailments brought on by a life of debauchery and libertinism that made even the notorious Lady Jean look positively innocent. The things that were said about Sir Charles--

No.

_No._

_NO._

_HELL NO!_

She stormed out onto the middle of the dance floor. "Stop it! Do you hear me, dammit!? I won't take part in this damned charade for another second. Stop it, Mastermind, or I swear I'll squeeze your balls so tight you'll make the Toad look like Hugh Hefner! Do I make myself clear?"

There was a shocked gasp from the assembled crowd. Sir Jason smiled--confusedly, Maria thought. "My dear," he said. "I can see you're not yourself. Perhaps if you go and rest some--"

Maria scowled, and ripped off her gown--to yet more gasps from the crowd. She looked right at "Sir Jason" with an unfriendly expression, indeed. "I'm giving you to the count of three, Mastermind. Then--it's Soprano City. One. Two. Thr--"

The ballroom disappeared. Maria was in an alley in Hell's Kitchen, her "normal" appearance returned to her. And facing her in the alley was the entire Brotherhood of Mutants, gazing at her with various looks of hostility and contempt. Mastermind seemed a little taken aback, and Maria noticed he was keeping to the rear of the group. Quicksilver was flanked to her right, and the Scarlet Witch to her left. The Toad was standing behind Magneto, who dominated her field of vision standing right in front of her. His arms were folded, and he seemed to be gauging his next move carefully.

Maria scowled. "Well," she said in an annoyed tone of voice, "I don't suppose you people are here to surrender, are you?"

Quicksilver, to do him credit, smiled slightly. Magneto's posture, Maria noted, seemed to get tenser. He was under the weight of a considerable emotion right now.

"There will be none of your backtalk, Shift," Magneto said. "None of your jokes. None of your high spirits. You still seem to think this is a game. It is not. If we teach you _that_   this day, at least, we shall have taught you well."

"Yeah?" Maria said, feeling herself getting angrier by the second. "And who's gonna teach me the lesson? _You?_   It better be, because the others don't amount to a hill of beans." She looked at the Scarlet Witch. "Except maybe you. And you never know what the hell you're going to be doing with that hex bit of yours. You'll probably just get in the way of the others. There's no strength in numbers for you here, old man. Soon, it'll just be me and you. And believe me--if anyone knows this is no game, it's _me._ I'm so pissed at you for that little stunt that I rather think I'm going to turn you into a toy magnet for our refrigerator. Bring you to the Professor tied up like an early Christmas present."

And at that moment, Eric Magnus Lehnsherr, known to the world as Magneto, did something that no one present could ever remember his doing before: he went berserk with rage. Usually, Maria felt, his tantrums were designed for effect. Not this time.

" _You!_ " he snarled, striking at Maria with all his power. "You _dare-_ -!" He screamed at her, finding in the elements in the alley all he needed to try to entomb her in a jacket of particles, cutting off her oxygen. Maria Shifted into a gas form, and the particles passed harmlessly through her. But she couldn't remain in this form for long, for reasons that became clear a moment later, when Quicksilver raced around her so fast he created a miniature tornado, dispersing her gaseous form. She Shifted into the eagle form, and flew above the tornado. Magneto looked at her flying form in what Maria almost thought was shock. He didn't know she could do that? He ain't seen nothing yet!

She divebombed the Brotherhood, and they scattered. She hit Mastermind right in the kisser, knocking him colder than last week's pizza. There. She enjoyed _that._ The bastard! The Toad tried to hop out of the way of her wrath, but she grabbed him and threw him hard at Quicksilver. The latter, not surprisingly, moved quickly out of the way, but the hapless Toad hit the side of the alley hard enough to knock him out for the count.

_Two down._

Maria landed in the alley, and Shifted into her diamond form. She started slowly walking towards Magneto. "I rather think I could knock out the Hulk in this state," she said, her voice almost unrecognizable, paradoxically, because of its sheer clarity. "Let's see what I can do to _you._ " Magneto immediately put up his force-field. Maria threw a punch at it. It wavered, but it held. She could see Magneto seething underneath it. He was still in a berserker state. Tough. He couldn't be as mad as she was right now.

She pressed against the field. "Maybe I can't break through this," she said. "At least, before I Shift back to my normal state. Fine. If I move the field, though, I move _you._ " She ripped the ground out from the alley, and put her diamond hands beneath the field. She threw it twenty feet into the air, and when it hit, the force-field--with Magneto inside--shook like a bomb had gone off inside it.

Meanwhile, the Scarlet Witch had decided to take action. As the alleyway still trembled from the force-field's hard landing, she threw a hex at Shift. Maria found herself suddenly frozen in her diamond form. Somehow, the Witch's hex had robbed her of her ability to move. And--no!--of her ability to Shift. For the moment, anyway, Maria was helpless.

Magneto realized this, because he dropped the field and walked slowly towards her. "Well, well," he said, looking at Maria with fierce interest. "Diamond. I remember that from that day in Pennsylvania. I promised you then, my dear, a special fate in store for you. I always make good my promises."

Yeah, yeah, yeah--let him talk. That was what he was best at, after all. Maria concentrated every fiber of her being, every ounce of her will, to break the spell the Scarlet Witch had her under. To her surprise, she noticed that the Witch seemed to be concentrating, too. Maria was puzzled--she thought that all she had to do was cast her hex, and that was that. But she seemed to be working to hold this one in place, as it were. That meant that this had turned into a contest of wills with the Witch. And Maria was confident as to how _that_   would turn out.

Magneto was still talking, seemingly oblivious as to what was really happening. "--had to take action. I could not have permitted that insult to my honor to go unavenged. I shall take you with me now, back to home base. There, I assure you, the scales shall be balanced still further. I have some interesting experiments in store for you. Perhaps I shall return you to Charles when I am finished--when you have learned your lesson--and perhaps I shall not."

 _"Charles?"_ Maria thought. _Now,_ _that's_ _interesting._

"Magneto!" Quicksilver called out. "Look out! Wanda--she's about to-"

But it was too late. Maria broke off the effect of the spell, Shifting back into her normal state. Magneto instinctively put up his force-field again. Wanda, drained, sank to one knee. Quicksilver came over to her.

"Wanda? My sister? Are you all right?" he asked.

"No," Maria said, slapping the Witch hard with the back of her hand. Hard enough to knock her out. _Three._

" _Wanda!_ " Quicksilver called out in anguish, and turned to Maria with a snarl. "By God, you'll pay for that--" He started to move into superspeed mode. And ran right into Maria's extended arm. He smashed into it, and fell to the alley, out cold.

_Four._

Maria turned to Magneto, walking right up to the edge of his force-field. "Well," she said quietly. "It's like I said, Magneto. You and me. Now--we have ourselves a choice. Shall I enumerate what those choices are?"

She could sense the intensity of his glare. Magneto was no longer in a berserker rage, Maria realized. In fact, she could sense him beginning to wish he was somewhere else. _There's no profit for him in this fight,_ she thought. _He's beginning to regret ever starting it. He let his pride get the better of him. Well--pride goeth before a fall, they say. Will he appreciate that little fact, I wonder?_

After a moment, Magneto nodded. "Go ahead," he said tightly.

"Very well. You are alone. These--" she spread her arms, indicating his defeated allies-- "are of no use to you now. Your force-field remains, but you know what I think? I think my diamond form has weakened it. I think even as I am, I could make it go away with relatively little effort. And then--" She shook her head dolefully. "Then, Magneto, it gets down and dirty. Really down and dirty, between us. Man-to--ahem--woman. And I'm beginning to think that this battle going to that level doesn't do either of us any good."

There was a pause. "Go on," he said carefully.

"With pleasure." She moved back a step, and made an elaborate bow. "Magneto--I sincerely apologize for that _Bugle_   story about you, and Quicksilver and the Scarlet Witch. I had some idea in my head of using it like the CIA uses disinformation, in order to get into your head. I also readily concede that it was just a cool thing to do. I _am_ young, and I _do_ have high spirits. And--as someone once suggested to me--I am sort of the mutant equivalent of the Madwoman in the Attic. Frankly, I just get bored. So--I made up a stupid newspaper story. I wish to hell that I hadn't. If I could take it back, I would. But I can't. So: I am sorry."

He considered her for some time. "That might almost do, Shift. I do not want enmity between the Brotherhood and the X-Men at this time. The reasons don't concern you right now. But the fact remains. I am hoping for a _rapproachment._ And yes, you may tell that to Charles." He sighed. "Perhaps I overreacted."

Maria was shocked. That was almost an apology from him! "If it's any consolation, Magneto, you-- _he-_ -" She indicated Mastermind-- "really got under my skin. You played on all my worst insecurities. You hurt me."

Magneto made a gesture, and the force-field came down. "I meant to," he said. "You deserved it."

"Maybe," she said. "So did _he._ " She indicated Mastermind on the floor of the alley.

"We can agree to _that,_ " Magneto said. By God, was there a hint of _humor_ in his voice?

Maria sighed. "Then the fight's over?"

"It is," he said. "And I had best get the others out of here. Indeed, I am rather surprised your police haven't arrived before now."

"Fine," Maria said.

"Just do not be under the misapprehension that you _won_ this fight," he said, magnetically levitating the members of the Brotherhood. "I of course would have defeated you."

"Of course," she said, and Magneto was gone, taking the Brotherhood with him. She could hear sirens now, all right, and scooted.

* * *

Charles Xavier shut his eyes. He did not believe what he was hearing, for a number of reasons. The other X-Men--whom he insisted share Maria's news with him--were looking at her with various expressions of shock. And, he realized, delight.

"I'd give a year of my life if I could have seen that fight," Warren said, leaning over and kissing Maria heartily. "Two years!"

Bobby shook her hand. "I'm in awe," he said.

Scott stood there, arms folded. "The X-Men's finest hour," he said wryly. "Too bad you were too selfish to share it with us."

Jean looked crestfallen. "I know, Scott," she said. "We _missed_   it, darn it!" She looked at Maria. "The whole Brotherhood?"

"They went down like tenpins," Maria said with a shrug. "--Lady Jean."

They all laughed. "I'm glad you plastered Mastermind," Hank said. "If you hadn't, I rather think I would have sought him out and done the job myself. That was a cruel thing to do. All kidding aside, it makes my blood boil."

The others nodded. Charles could see them united in their outrage over what had happened to Maria. Their morale was sky high right now, he realized. An ill wind--

"Perhaps this gives force to my warning about your newspaper stories?" he asked in a light tone of voice. Maria winced.

"Yes, sir," she answered. "My apology to Magneto was real. I think he felt that. Hopefully, the issue is closed."

"Yes," Charles said thoughtfully. "And a _rapproachment!_ Between the X-Men and the Brotherhood! He actually said _that?_ "

"His very words, sir."

Charles felt a sense of relief he didn't try to conceal. Eric had strayed so far from the man he had once been. Maybe--just maybe--he had taken the first, tentative step back. "My X-Men--despite the outrage perpetrated upon Maria, this has been a good day. Just possibly it is the beginning of the end of the estrangement between ourselves and the Brotherhood. We must move cautiously, of course. Possibly it may just be an armed truce in the midst of a continuing Cold War. But even that would be an improvement on the previous order of things. There is reason for hope."

* * *

Hank McCoy was working on his paper about Wittgenstein. Leaning back on the living room couch, arms behind his head, pencil between his toes, making notes. There was a relaxation, a _zone,_ he had in this position that he never felt in "normal" posture. He wished he could explain it to his fellow students, but it would have been like explaining sight to a blind man. Or music to a deaf one. And he laughed, because that sounded so high-falutin', didn't it, McCoy? He wondered what Wittgenstein would have thought of that analogy...

He must have dozed off, posture and all, because he felt himself being given a serious shaking. He blinked, and wiped a little drool off his face, and saw Maria over him, a smile on her enigmatic face.

"Houston to McCoy," she said. "Do we have a malfunction?"

He sat up straight. "Always, it seems," he said, grabbing his glasses from the floor and putting them back on. "My dear, you find me totally discombobulated."

" 'Totally' discombombulated," she said seriously, her finger on her lower lip. "Well, Henry, that might call for some serious corrective action. How do you combombulate somebody?"

"I'd tell you, but I'd have to kill you."

Maria laughed, in that grainy, rusty laugh that made Hank love her more every time he heard it. _Yes, McCoy, face facts. You_ _do_ _love this girl. Are you just going to sit around forever? But if she doesn't return my feelings--things would get so sticky--_ He muttered something to himself, and Maria frowned.

"What was that, Hank?"

"Nothing, Maria," he said. Maria looked at him, seemingly dissatisfied. Finally, she sighed and went to the door of the living room, looked around, and closed it. She came back to Hank, sat down next to him, and took his hand.

"Hank," she said, looking him full in the face, "are you in love with me?"

Hank McCoy shut his eyes, hoping that when he opened them again, he would be somewhere, anywhere, else. But he felt her pressure on his hand, and when he opened his eyes, there she was, a serious look on her face. "Yes," he finally said, unable to lie or temporize.

She looked very unhappy, Hank thought. "I thought so," she said. "Hank-- _look_ at me. Really look, not with your heart but with your head."

"I have done so frequently these past few months, Maria."

"I know, Hank, I know," she said, her voice a misery that Hank couldn't understand. "Hank--I _do_ love you. But I'm not _in_ love with you."

The universe shrunk to the size of his body, her voice, her hand in his. "I see," he said, very calmly.

"I'd do anything to avoid hurting you. _Anything._ But you deserve to know the truth."

"Yes," he said, looking at her, shocked by the raw pain in her eyes. Those magnificent eyes. _My God--what_ _is_ _it? What isn't she telling me?_

Maria let his hand go, stood up. "Hank--I don't think I'm capable of loving anybody in that way. Not really. I don't know if I'll ever be able to. If I did, though, I'd love you." And she walked out of the living room, taking more of Hank McCoy's heart with every step. Hank sat there for a very long time, Wittgenstein forgotten. The day darkened, and he didn't notice.

* * *

"Yes, I told him the truth, Jean. As much as I dared." Jean was hugging Maria, as she had been doing frequently for the past half-hour or so. She had entered Jean's room more or less incoherent, crying hysterically, and Jean had slowly but surely gotten her to a state of sobbing explanations.

"You didn't show him 'Anna', did you?"

"God, _no!_ " Maria said, agony in her voice. "That would kill me, Jean. If he--if any of them--knew about that. Especially Hank. Promise, promise you'll never _hint_ it!"

"Of course, Maria, of course," Jean crooned to the distraught girl, stroking her rough hair. "I have already. But what _did_ you say?"

Maria shivered, and Jean hugged her tighter than ever. "I--I just said that I didn't think I could ever love anybody. But if I could, it would be him."

Jean considered this. "That's ambiguous enough for anybody, Maria. What did you mean by it? What did you want _him_   to mean by it?"

"I don't know, I don't know," Maria said miserably. "Oh, Jean--I just wanted him to forget me. At least, in that way."

"I guarantee you, Maria, it will have exactly the opposite effect," Jean said firmly. "He'll think that secretly you really _do_ love him, and that there's some barrier keeping the two of you apart. Which is of course nothing less than the exact truth."

"Oh, no!" Maria cried out. "Oh, Jean, what am I going to _do?_ "

"I don't know," Jean said. "But you helped me and Scott, and _I'm_   going to help you. Somehow. Don't ask me how yet. But I am."

A few more minutes of this, and Maria returned to her room, full of thanks, which Jean waved off with a smile. But when the other girl had left, Jean lay back in her bed, a very determined look indeed on her face. It was time to face facts. The situation was a stalemate. Maria needed help. Neither girl could see a way of providing it. Jean was sworn to say nothing to anybody--a vow she had every intention of keeping. Stalemate. What, then, to do?

Break the stalemate, somehow. Find a way to produce a miracle. Become the girl's Fairy Godmother,  Jean thought with a laugh. But she was going to see Maria and Hank together somehow. _She,_   Jean Grey, was tougher than a seemingly insoluble problem. She was in love. And the people she loved would find love too, somehow. No matter what--or who--got in her way.

* * *

Wanda Maximoff had felt uneasy ever since the battle with Shift. She couldn't recall such an ordeal before. Usually the hex spheres she generated did their work, and she gathered her strength until she was ready for another. But this one! Shift was _so_ powerful, and as a result the sphere had to be reinforced by her own will or Shift would have broken it--as, after all, she did in the end. But that wasn't what was bothering her.

She had tried explaining it to Pietro. "It was as if I was on the brink of something totally new to me," she had told him. "Pietro, I felt as if I could-- _remove_ \--Shift somehow. Transport her to some other sphere of existence completely. Or maybe just alter our world, so that she had somehow never existed. I was tempted to try, when she was straining against my hex. I don't want to ever know that feeling again."

Pietro, she thought, had listened, but not really understood. He felt that it was probably an after-effect of the physical effects of the battle. Shift had hit Wanda hard, and she was experiencing headaches and weakness. He felt that Wanda was exaggerating. But the frightening thing was that she _wasn't_   exaggerating. She really believed that she might have--erased--Shift. She considered bringing the matter up with Magneto, as she certainly should have. But she did not. Magneto had been a different man since the battle. Less fearsome, almost. But also more confident. He felt more in control of events than Wanda could ever remember. And if she confided her fears to him, she knew he wouldn't truly understand. He would react as Pietro had. She sighed to herself. Who _could_   understand? Was there anyone else?

And she thought of Professor Charles Xavier. Their archenemy. But the world's greatest telepath. If indeed the Brotherhood and the X-Men were going to seek out a _rapproachment_ \--could the day come when she _could_ seek out Xavier's advice? She would keep the option in mind.

* * *

Emma Frost smiled at the man across from her. "Of course, Carlo," she said, a hint--more than a hint--of unspecified bliss in her voice. "Capri sounds wonderful this time of year. As soon as I get some business matters straightened up here at the Club, well--just hold me back!"

The middle-aged man smiled at her--like the Cheshire Cat, she thought. He was wearing the 18th-century garb of the Hellfire Club's private gatherings. It fit him well, she had to admit. Carlo Grazione was near fifty, but still a good figure of a man. Emma rather liked middle-aged men--it fit her father-fixations. But then, she liked just about every kind of man. Even though--maybe because--she could read their innermost thoughts, secret desires, sick fantasies. And as far as Emma was concerned, the sicker, the better. Carlo, here, had obsessions about Hitler. He imagined himself wearing swastikas, strutting about in Nazi regalia and bringing a black boot down on the face of a beautiful woman, all the while ordering the massacre of millions of his enemies and gloating about it. Emma adored him.

They talked some more about Capri--the home of the Emperor Tiberius, she thought with a delicious shiver. Then Carlo departed, and Emma adjusted her corset and inquired if Donald Pierce was on the premises. Soon she was talking to him in a small alcove near the front entrance to the Club.

"Yes, my dear?" he asked, one eyebrow raised.

"Dear Donald," she said, adjusting his cravat a millimeter. "You _would_   tell your Emma about anything that would do harm to we poor, helpless mutants, wouldn't you?"

Pierce smiled--a very cruel smile, Emma thought. Maybe someday, she could make it crueler yet. "I might," he said. "If there was something in it for me."

She smiled broadly. "And just what would that 'something' be, my dear Donald?"

He took her roughly by the shoulders, kissed her hard. She responded immediately, as she always did when men of immense wealth and power tried to take her. She opened her mouth, and read Pierce's thoughts, which she couldn't often do, but his were so open right now...what he wanted to do to her. Oh, my! What an _imagination_   Donald had! She was getting more and more aroused...

Finally, he broke the kiss off, grabbed her hair and pushed her head back. "That's all for _you_ until you tell me what the hell this is about, darling Emma."

"One hears things," she said. "I hear that _you_   hear things. I have a natural interest in preserving my skin, dear boy. Don't we all?"

"Indeed," he said, carefully looking at her. "Oh, my. Very well. I shall say this, and only this. You--and Shaw, and Leland--are fools if you trust Ned. Make of that what you will." And he walked off, Emma still panting a little in his wake.

She spoke to Shaw later. Lourdes was with him. Emma and Lourdes tolerated each other, but no more. But then, Emma barely tolerated most women. "What do you think he means?" she asked Shaw.

"God knows," Shaw said, shrugging. Emma always enjoyed probing Shaw's thoughts. No other man she had ever met combined such directness with such imagination. Compared to him, Carlo might have been Francis of Assisi. She walked on a very thin rope whenever she was around Shaw. It frightened her--and very little did. But it was _such_ a trip! She wouldn't have given it up for anything.

Lourdes puckered her dark, perfect lips. "Sebastian--Pierce cannot always be trusted. It could well be to his advantage to sow distrust between you and Ned Buckman."

"It would," Shaw said with a hint of uncertainty. "On the other hand--I hear things, too. Things that if Buckman _is_ connected to--" He shrugged, turned to Emma. "Try to get more information, Emma. From Pierce. Oh, I know how his unique physiology makes his thoughts more-or-less hidden to you--unless, of course, he _wants_   you to see them." They smiled at each other. "But there are other men in the Hellfire Club who could conceivably know things. Work on them."

She sighed. "My dear Sebastian--what do you think I've _been_   doing?"

"Try harder."

"As you wish." Emma went back to the main area of the Club, looking for the man with the most--intriguing--thoughts. Pleasure before business, as always.


	24. Thanksgiving at the Mansion

Chapter Twenty-Four

* * *

Mr Handy, leather box in tow, came to a hotel room in New York at precisely one-twenty six that afternoon. That had been insisted upon, and he glanced at his watch until it indicated the exact time. He knocked on the door.

"Enter," a voice within said. Handy opened the door, and looked over at his employer. He was a man in his forties, solidly built, a shock of flowing brown hair, wearing a green cover-all. He frowned as he contemplated Mr Handy.

"You are exactly six seconds too early, Mr Handy."

He shrugged. "I suppose my watch isn't exact, sir."

The man looked frustrated. "Punctuality is very important, Mr Handy. Every second counts. My plans depend upon it."

If Handy was going to say something about the relative lack of success of this man's plans, he resisted the temptation. He handed over the box. "Well, sir, here's what you sent me down to Dallas to hogtie. It's the goods, all right. Forge showed it to me." He opened the box, and started to assemble the apparatus within.

The other man stopped him with an incredulous wave of his hand. "Mr Handy--am I to assume that you were preparing to 'show' me something? That I require 'instruction' from you in this machine---or indeed, in anything?"

Handy froze. "I reckon not, sir."

"Indeed." The other man picked up the apparatus that resembled a gun. "I believe that I can master this, thank you." He indicated an envelope on a dresser. "There, Mr Handy, is your fee. A quite generous one, but you have done well by me."

Handy picked up the envelope, tore it open. Indeed--it was more than adequate. He indicated as much to his employer.

"I am not an ungenerous man, Mr Handy. Unlike others I could name." He frowned. "Recently, none other than Victor von Doom himself utilized three agents in one of his absurd schemes against Richards and Company. And when they had successfully done their assigned tasks, do you know what he did with them, Mr Handy? He actually sent them to another dimension, as if they were no more than some radio waves or something! Imagine _that_   for ingratitude."

Handy gulped. He could imagine it, all right. The other man seemed to notice his discomfort, for he smiled and put his hand on Handy's shoulder.

"Fortunately, Mr Handy, you and I have another sort of relationship entirely, don't we?"

Handy smiled. "I sure hope so, sir."

"Indeed," the other man said, eyes fixed on a distant purpose, as was often the case. "It's strange," he said. "Men call me 'mad'. Me! I greatly prefer to be called merely the 'Thinker', as you know. Though if it makes lesser men happy to regard me as mad--well, I can hardly gainsay them, I suppose." He looked at the box. "This will help me very much indeed. My plans include the X-Men. Oh, very much do they include the X-Men. I do not forget those who have inconvenienced me, Mr Handy. Indeed I do not."

Handy couldn't repress his curiosity for a moment. "Why Marvel Girl, Thinker? What's so important about _her?_ "

The Thinker smiled a smile of beatitude-like contentment. "See, Mr Handy? What I said about our relationship? If one of Doom's minions had dared to ask _him_   about his plans, well, a trip to another dimension would have seemed a lucky break to that unfortunate. A lucky break indeed. But not _me_. I am delighted that you express such interest in things so totally beyond your comprehension."

"Yes, sir," Handy said quietly. But the Thinker went on.

"And I'm very willing indeed to answer your question, Mr Handy. I have put together every scrap of information there is about the X-Men. Oh, some has been discarded. For instance, I have ignored everything this 'Shift' has said in her newspaper interviews. She does not, alas, strike me as a particularly trustworthy source. But all the rest-- Oh, yes, Mr Handy, all the rest I have entered into my computers. And they are the best computers in the world. And they tell me a very interesting story. They often can see things that our all-too-fallible human senses cannot. And what they tell me is that Marvel Girl is the key. That somehow, _she_   is the one who matters." The Thinker shook his head. "How this can be, I do not quite understand. But the computers are very clear on the point. As a result, _she_   is the X-Man who shall power my new android. Those few moments of energy from her is all that the process shall require. What Mr Forge did not know in dealing with his rats and all is that, while the 'recipient' of the mutant power can only hold it a few minutes-- _if_   he or she were human--an android can be generated indefinitely by the power so given them. My android shall be powered by Marvel Girl. And we shall see, perhaps, why _she_   is so important. What the android does with the power--" The Thinker shrugged.

Handy looked impressed. And that was because he _was_   impressed. "And what about the second dose, Thinker? Why the back-up?"

The Thinker looked thoughtful. "Why not? A fail-safe is always a good idea. If something goes wrong--" He smiled, a careless smile that nonetheless brought shivers to Handy. "I wonder about this Shift. How would _she_   look if her power were to be taken away from her? Who knows? I must admit, my initial idea was to simply siphon off _her_ power to begin with. But the computers were quite clear--it must be Marvel Girl. So be it. I cannot go against my computers just because it seems to violate common sense. I am fallible; they are not." He walked to a window, looked out. "But before this game is played out, Mr Handy, we might just see Shift in her shift, so to speak. I wonder if the girl will bless me--or curse me."

* * *

Maria was in the kitchen with Carla. Thanksgiving was coming, and Maria had been informed that this was the big holiday of the year at the School. She was sitting on a stool, watching Carla's preparations. Carla tolerated Maria's presence there. She liked her, Maria knew. And Maria's spaghetti had become so legendary that Carla regarded her as a colleague of sorts. Which meant that she could sit on her stool and kibbitz, but not interfere.

Carla looked at Maria's glum face and sniffed. "I see some trouble in paradise is what _I_   see, girl."

Maria scowled at her. "Mind your own business."

Carla didn't answer, just continued fixing the stuffing. Maria watched with detached interest. "I see that Hank," Carla said. "You think anyone can't see it?"

"I don't want to talk about it."

"Of course." Carla mixed in some more bread crumbs. "Girl, you want some advice?"

"No."

"A boy like Hank McCoy is a jewel. A rare, precious 24-carat _Je-you-ell._ Any girl who wouldn't want him hanging around her neck--well, she must be crazy is all I can say." Carla paused. "Especially if she isn't quite as much of a looker as I was as a girl--or as Jeannie is today."

Maria gave her a very unfriendly look. "Well, gee, thanks so much for _that_."

Carla shrugged. "Truth is truth, girl. You waitin' for Rock Hudson to come along, you'll be waitin' for a long time."

"Go to hell."

Carla smiled. "Oh, of course. Whatever you say, girl. But you remember what I've told you."

Maria left the kitchen. Carla smiled in a superior fashion after her, and got out the garlic powder.

* * *

Jean looked at herself in the mirror. The long white dress she was placing over her other clothes hung onto the floor a little, but it still looked good on her, she thought. She knew she was being very premature--she was still a couple of weeks short of turning eighteen, after all. But she looked at the dress draped over her, and at how ecstatic she seemed in her mirror image, and thought of her wedding day. It wouldn't come for three or four years. She'd be at least 21. So old! But she could dream, couldn't she?

A knock on the door. "Who is it?" she asked, telekinetically raising the dress.

"It's me, Jean," came Scott's voice. Hurriedly, she threw open her closet and tossed the dress into it, and shut the door. "Come in," she said, trying hopelessly for some poise in her voice.

Scott entered the room, and she threw her arms around him and kissed him passionately. He responded, but before they could get any further he gently, but firmly, broke it off and faced Jean. He was here on business, then.

"Yes, Scott?"

He rubbed his hands through his hair--oh, how she loved it when he did that!--and sat down on the edge of the bed. "Jean," he asked carefully, "is there something I should know about Maria and Hank? Both of them are moping around the Mansion. Neither is very enthusiastic or communicative. Do you know something about this that I should know?"

Jean, trying to buy time, asked Scott: "Did the Professor send you to me, Scott?"

Scott blushed slightly. "Well, Jean, he _is_ concerned. He was going to talk to you, but I volunteered to do it myself."

Jean smiled, sat down at the edge of the bed and took Scott's hand and kissed it. "Poor boy," she said. "And brave one. To volunteer! No wonder you're our leader."

He grinned, and put her on his lap. "You're being a bit saucy, young lady." He kissed her, and she kissed back hard. But reality intruded on them, as it usually does. Scott broke off the kiss, and looked at her with a serious expression on his face.

"But really, Jean-- _is_ there a situation the Professor and I should know about? Something that can harm team morale?"

Jean's jaw jutted out. "No, Scott," she said in a firm tone of voice.

"But you _do_ know what it is?"

"Yes, I do. And it's going to stay with me. Scott--Maria and Hank will be fine. I promise you _that._ "

He looked dissatisfied. "Jean--if this is something the Professor should be dealing with--"

" _No,_ " she said very firmly indeed. "No, Scott, that won't be necessary. It's just a spat, something that happens in all schools, all institutions. They'll be all right."

He got up, kissed her again. "Fair enough, Red. For now. But I--we--will be keeping an eye on things. If matters--"

"Was that a _joke_?" Jean said, getting up and swatting him lightly on his bottom. " _You're_   keeping an _eye_ on things?"

He frowned. "It certainly wasn't meant to be." He laughed, and grabbed her in his arms. "You're corrupting me, Jean."

After another kiss, she said: "Hey, it's a tough job, Slim, but someone has to do it." On that note, he left her room, leaving her in a happy state indeed. She jumped back on her bed. _Eighteen._ The kisses remained passionate and ecstatic. But she wondered--was she reaching the point of "digesting" them, their impact on her--on both of them? And if so--

She telekinetically opened her drawer, and a rubber packet came out. _Are we nearing the time when you go into action, Goodyear?_

_________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

The Thinker looked out over the city. The city it was his destiny to control. Not "rule". He hadn't the slightest interest in dealing with political bosses, union contracts, ward heelers. God, no. That would be beneath the dignity of a man such as himself. No, he wanted to control it. Be the power behind the scenes. Let his computers determine how the city should be run. Give the orders to the ward heelers, let the machinery of the city run as the computers bade it, and sit back and see New York become the most advanced and efficient city on the face of the earth. Then wait, for the rest of the world to come to him on bended knee begging him to do the same for _their_ benighted metropolises. And just maybe--if he were in a gracious mood--he would.

He turned from the window and entered certain rooms in his complex. Inside, he looked on his giant android. His masterwork, his pride and joy. The android would absorb the powers of any who attacked it. Of course, it was totally mindless, so it couldn't actually _do_ much with those powers. This, the Thinker was forced to admit, had been a handicap in the past. But this time, against the X-Men, the android's only purpose was to get their attention. Make them concentrate on _it,_ so they would ignore their real peril.

He moved to another part of the compound. _Here_. He looked at his new android with paternal pride. It--no, "she"--was indeed in the shape of a woman. Since his computers had indicated that Marvel Girl was the key player in the X-Men, the Thinker had carefully made the android in the image of Marvel Girl. He had used computer-generated likenesses of the girl's photographs and used them to extrapolate what her features looked like beneath the mask. He had placed these on the android, along with her flowing red hair. He thought the resemblance was perfect. And when it--no, dammit, "she!"--had the powers of Marvel Girl--well, we would see what we would see.

Best of all, this android was far from mindless. He, the Thinker, had given her the semblance of life, of volition. If von Doom could do the same with his crude robots, the Thinker was capable of the same--more--with androids, who unlike robots were living beings, albeit artificial ones. And this dear girl would be alive. Given the personality of Marvel Girl, as much as the Thinker could recreate it from his computers. With her body, and face, and mind, and powers--well, that was the point, wasn't it? See just what was so damned important about _her_. And utilize her in his own best interests. He thought wistfully of the Puppet Master, his partner the last time he had faced the X-Men. Philip Masters had been a frail reed, alas. He could no doubt make a puppet of the girl, and control her through it. But that would answer none of the questions the Thinker had. And after all, it was the answering of questions that made science what it was.

Then there was the matter of the second dose. Should he give _that_ to his Marvel Girl android, as well? But since he was interested in _why,_ exactly, his computers were so insistent that Marvel Girl was the most important of the X-Men, the android should be given just _her_ powers, at least to start with. There'd be plenty of time for the second dose--either for Marvel Girl, or Shift, or whomever. After all, he thought brightly, the X-Men wouldn't be going anywhere for a good long while once they were in his hands.

"You need a name, my dear," he said to the sleeping android. "One just for me to call you." One young woman who resembled another completely. The Thinker pondered this. He was a great admirer of Alfred Hitchcock. The way he planned his pictures so carefully on paper before he actually went through the grubby process of dealing with actors and camera crews. Everything to the smallest detail written down, so there would be no surprises. There was a man after the Thinker's own heart. And the film _Vertigo_ came to the Thinker's mind. Yes--one female, ostensibly like the other--

"Madelyne," he said to the android. "I shall call you Madelyne."

* * *

And in a dark room, a certain figure had its head in its hands. It felt in despair. All paths seemed to be converging on catastrophe. _Things are out of my control. If they were ever in my control at all._ It walked to its computer bank, pushed some buttons. The figure read out some extrapolations of possible events, extrapolations that were orders of magnitude more sophisticated than the Thinker's computers could ever be.

_What do I do about Wanda? She seems to be reconciled to Magnus. I did not anticipate that. I thought the Brotherhood would have broken up by now. That was the probability. But now--with Eric and Charles seemingly about to establish a detente--who knows?_

The figure grabbed the computer printouts and crunched them in its hands. To hell with all this. Machines. Probabilities. It was the human heart that mattered. And individuals.

_The girl Maria._ _She_ _has made the difference. Magnus doesn't realize it, but he was impressed by the girl's courage, her spunk, when arrayed against him and the Brotherhood. Imagine him accepting an apology from a member of the X-Men a year ago! He is changing. Fast enough? Perhaps not. But he is changing._

The figure went to the window, looked out at the cold November night. _I wish so much that I could love again. But those days are past. Why do I go on, without the possibility of love?_ _Me_ _, of all people? Well, I can safeguard others. I suppose that will have to do._

The wind was chilly, but the figure did not care. It felt good. Time was narrowing, everything was coming together. Alternatives were being compressed, probabilities running amok. Failure or success seemed equally likely. The waiting was unbearable. _But I have waited a very long time, have I not?_ the figure asked itself. _A few months more--that is all. Whatever the result, it will be a relief to have it over._

* * *

Maria didn't mind being dragooned into service as a Thanksgiving tray. She walked from the kitchen to the dining room, right arm expanded into a flat space that Carla could put almost everything on. Maria smiled, saluted with her left arm, and trotted off to the dining room, where she lay the various dishes down on the table. She did make a pointed inquiry to Jean as to why a certain telekinetic wasn't being equally useful, and received the answer that she should suck it up, rookie. Maria was tempted to "accidentally" drop some gravy on top of a certain shock of red hair, but decided that she wouldn't survive the inevitable holocaust that would ensue. Besides--she needed to be on good terms with Jean for the coming showdown with Scott.

Finally, Maria was able to sit down and enjoy the meal. Everyone was in a good--and discursive--mood. The Professor told them some anecdotes concerning his world travelling, and the students discussed the events of the year. Maria told a story or two of the Torches and Pitchfork days, including one that was so gross that she waited until the meal was over. The groans and catcalls which ensued made her swell with pride, naturally, though unfortunately it didn't prevent anyone from being able to eat dessert.

That evening, while the boys were watching a football game on TV and the Professor was reading in his study, the two girls met in Jean's room to make the final preparations for their conspiracy.

"You're _sure_ that everything will go as planned?" Jean asked Maria in a worried tone of voice. Maria nodded enthusiastically.

"Red--it's in the bag."

"Oh, Maria--if anything should go wrong, I'd die of embarrassment."

"It won't," Maria said confidently.

"If you say so," Jean replied, with what Maria thought was a disquieting lack of trust in her cunning.

Everyone turned in relatively early that night, still gorged with food and feeling sleepy. Jean and Maria awaited their opportunity.

* * *

Scott never had much trouble falling asleep, despite the burdens that team leadership put on him. Sleep was a part of life, and he needed it, so it just came when it came. He'd usually brood for maybe five minutes, then give it up and decide to deal with it--whatever "it" was--the next day. But he was wondering more and more how different it would be, when he had Jean next to him at night. Would she make him sleep better--or worse? And would he care either way?

These pleasing thoughts kept him up that night a little longer than usual, but nonetheless he soon dropped off. Then sometime later--he couldn't be certain exactly when--he heard a squeaking sound coming from the walls. He immediately was wide awake, and turned the light on. The Mansion was old and very large, and mice could sometimes be a problem. Just as he was wondering what to do, there came a tentative knock at the door.

He opened it, and saw Jean there, a robe wrapped around her white pajamas. "I'm sorry to wake you, Scott--"

"Yes, Jean?" he asked.

"There are mice in my room," she said with a breathless rush of air. "Maybe more than one. I'm not sure what to do..."

"I have them too, Jean," he said with a sage nod of his head. "Well, let's go check your room out." They left, and Scott didn't pause long enough to consider that the "squeaks" he heard sounded rather odd--as if someone might be imitating mice, say... Maria looked out from Scott's closet. The coast was clear. He was in Jean's hands now. Poor boy.

Scott entered Jean's room after her, and she immediately grabbed him with her arms and embraced him passionately. They had a very long kiss, Scott's eyes shut, arms around Jean, oblivious to everything else in the Universe--including Maria slipping quietly past him into Jean's closet. The closet door shut noiselessly--Maria had oiled its hinges carefully not an hour before. Scott's eyes opened, and he was in a world of bliss and contentment--certainly not in any position to notice that the closet door was shut now, whereas it had been open slightly just before.

"Wasn't there something about mice?" Scott said, a goofy smile on his face that Jean found utterly delightful.

A squeak came from her closet. But this was stronger, more forceful than the sound Scott had heard in his room.

"Oh my!" Jean said, alarmed hands up to her face. "Scott--that sounded like it might be a rat!"

Scott frowned. It did sound like a rat, at that. He was careful as he opened the door--

It was dark inside the closet. There was nothing in there but Jean's things, but there against the wall--in the corner-- He got down on his hands and knees and peered deeply.

"It _does_   look like a hole, Jean," he said. "It might be a rat. It's certainly a mouse. I'm sorry. I'll get something to seal it with."

"Don't bother," Jean said, and shut the closet door quietly but firmly. Scott heard the sound of a "rat" even sharper than before, but now he was smelling one, too.

"Jean--?" he asked, beginning to suspect that something wasn't right. He tried to open the door, but found Jean's telekinetic power blocking his way. "Jean--let me out at once, please."

"Not until you pay a toll," Jean said, face flushed, embarrassed but determined now that she was committed.

"Jean--what's this about?"

"Maria--will you explain to our Fearless Leader, please?"

 _Maria._ Scott snorted. He should have known. Jean wasn't corrupt enough to hatch this plan--whatever it was--by herself. It would have to be Maria. Well--he would let them spring the trap. Maybe even let them have a "victory"--for now. It would be a temporary one. He was determined about _that._

Maria smiled. She had Shifted to a gaseous form inside the closet after she had done her dirty work, and returned to Jean's room via an air duct, resuming her normal form. "My dear Fearless Leader--Jean and I have arranged a little leadership test for you. You might notice that the 'mousehole' in the corner is already patched up. Needless to say, it was a clever illusion we created for you."

"Umm hmm," Scott said. "And may I inquire as to the nature of this 'test'?"

"Indeed you may," Maria said. "Do you recall, Scott, as your childish football game was ending, Jean brought around a last little tray of cookies for you boys?"

A slight pause. An uneasy pause, Maria thought. "--Yes," Scott finally said.

"And you had a chocolate chip cookie?" Maria said, barreling on.

"Yes," Scott said--definitely alarm in his voice now. She winked at Jean, who was looking evil indeed.

"Well, dear Fearless Leader--we just _had_ to include just a little extra in _your_   cookie."

The pause was longer this time. Maria finally turned to Jean and said, "I do believe, Miss Grey, that our Fearless Leader has grasped the essence of the situation." She turned to the closet. "What did we put in that cookie, Scott?"

"You didn't," he said, voice incredulous.

"I'm afraid we did, Scott," Jean said softly. "A dose of Exlax. You're beginning to realize that, aren't you?"

"Let me out," Scott said, beginning to push against the telekinetically-held door. Jean's smile just grew, as Maria went on.

"And just now--when Jean was kissing you--and yes, that was part of our plot...and by the way, you're a _great_ kisser, Scott--Jean is _such_ a lucky girl..." The two girls looked at each other and giggled. "Well, I sort of jumped into the closet and made things even more interesting."

"What do you mean?" Scott said, voice sounding seriously alarmed now.

"Well, Scott--I'm afraid I just couldn't resist setting off a little gas bomb in there. With a slight time-action delay, needless to say. It should be starting to affect you just about--oh--now."

"Gas bomb?" Scott said, voice astonished. "What do you mean, gas bomb?"

"Well," Maria said, voice as coy as she could make it, "the actual scientific name doesn't really matter. The point is, it makes you sick. _Really_   sick, if you breathe it in more than, say, three minutes or so. I mean, vomiting, shakes, all that sort of thing. So--you've got troubles coming your way from both ends, as you might say."

"What do you two want?" Scott said, voice tense but resigned. Jean and Maria gave each other looks of congratulation. He sounded as if he'd prefer a face-off with Magneto any day to the torment that was slowly enveloping him.

"A leadership test, Scott," Jean said sweetly. "You _are_   our leader, after all. Get out of there without using your powers to smash the closet door or walls, get to the--uh--bathroom. In time, that is."

There was a desperate pause. "You said something about a toll," he said.

"Oh, did I?" Jean said. "I say so many things, Scott..."

"Jean!" Scott cried out, softly but assuredly. "For God's sake..."

"Oh, very well," Jean said. "The toll, dear Fearless Leader, is simple--you get out _if_   you let me photograph you in a jock strap and a New York Mets cap--and nothing else. With a very sexy smile on your face." Jean paused for a second. "Maria's ideas for the photo were considerably more--inventive--than mine were. But I prevailed, you'll be pleased to note."

An astonished pause. "You're out of your minds. Both of you."

Maria sighed ostentatiously. "Well, Jean, it looks as if you're going to need some towels and soap and water. Let's hope none of the others get woken up. And that the smell will remain confined to the girl's wing--"

"Jean!"

"I have the jock strap right here, Scott," Jean said, indeed taking it from one of her drawers. "And the Mets cap. Naturally, once we have the picture, we'll have to use it for blackmail purposes. That, after all, is what blackmail photos are for--"

"I can blast this door open," Scott said, panic in his voice now. "And when I've concluded my, uh, business, I'll come back and I swear I'll blister your bottom."

"Oh, Scott, how masterful you are!" And the girls giggled again.

"Cripes--Jean--things are getting...imminent."

"Just pay the toll."

"No!"

"Well, then..."

Another second, then: "All right," in a defeated voice. "But my business first."

"Oh, of course," Jean said, winking at Maria. She relaxed the pressure on the door, and Scott raced past them. In a couple of minutes he was back, face flushed.

"Let's get this over with," he said in a very dark voice indeed. He turned to Maria. " _She_ leaves the room for this."

Maria smiled. "Of course." And left. In a couple of minutes the ordeal was over, Scott was back in his pajamas and Maria had returned to the room.

Scott glared at Jean. "I'm not happy with you, Jean. Really."

"Maybe not," Jean said. "Oh, Scott? By the way?"

"Yes?"

"...There was nothing in the cookie. Nothing at all."

His jaw dropped. "What--?" He turned to Maria. "And the gas...?"

"Oh, you smelled it, did you?" she asked sweetly.

"Yes. Yes, I _did_ smell it."

"Sheer power of suggestion. There was nothing in the closet, either."

"But I had to go--!"

"The night after Thanksgiving?" Jean said. "Imagine that!"

Scott froze. "My God," he said, and there was admiration in his voice. "You devils! You've been planning this for a long time, haven't you?"

"Certainly," Jean said. "I was determined to get you. Maria came up with the plan. We worked on it for weeks until it was perfect, Fearless Leader." She leered at Scott. "Gotcha!"

Scott shook his head, then chuckled slightly--a major outbreak of mirth for him The two girls laughed, but kept it soft so as not to wake any of the others up. Scott took Jean in his arms and kissed her, ending with a light smack on her bottom. "You deserve a lot more than _that_ , Miss Grey," he said.

"Promises, promises," she said. Scott turned to Maria.

"So do you."

"Fine," she said. "If you find the Hulk, you can utilize _his_ services."

Scott's head tilted ominously. "You know of course that this means war," he told them both.

"We're prepared," Jean said.

"Absolutely," Maria seconded. "But just how do you conduct war, O Fearless Leader, when there's so much--consorting--with the enemy?"

"I'll find a way," he said, smiling lightly. "Be on your guard, both of you." And he went back to bed, and the two girls hugged each other.

"Miss Gianelli--I take my hat off to you! You're a genius! That couldn't have gone better if Patton had planned it!"

"Oh, 'twas nothing, Miss Grey," Maria said, trying unsuccessfully to sound modest. "You did all the hard work."

"A joint effort!"

"Absolutely!" Maria said, and she went off to bed then, too, feeling the satisfaction that only a good day's work can bring


	25. Home Invasion

Chapter Twenty-Five

* * *

The Thinker looked at Madelyne. So soft, so nubile, so lifelike. She would be a good guinea pig, he thought with satisfaction.

All was ready. The computers--after digesting every scrap of information about the X-Men--had come up with a street. Graymalkins Lane, Salem Center. Up in Westchester. The actual street number eluded him at first, but that hardly mattered. Not when a county directory gave him Professor Xavier's School for Gifted Youngsters. And when a photo he perused of Professor Charles Xavier looked so much like the puppet of the leader of the X-Men which the wretched Masters had made. No, he had his address. He was ready.

 _My giant android will blunder into your little world,_ he thought. _And before you realize your real peril, it shall be too late. I estimate a 99.46% chance of success in my endeavor. The only conceivable wild card is the girl, Shift. And I shall deal with_ _her_ _. No, this shall be a triumph._

Once more the Thinker looked out over the city, imagining all the improvements that would be made in its operations under his benevolent hand. That pleased him, and he went to bed and dreamed of a world in which the trains--and everything else--ran on time.

* * *

Maria had an early Danger Room session on her own, with only Scott presiding. There were no ostensible repercussions from the Thanksgiving Night Massacre, as she and Jean had taken to calling it. Scott remained cool and professional in his relations with Maria, regarding the team at least. But she could sense him just waiting for some opportunity she couldn't quite put her finger on. Had they gone too far, by taking the picture? Should they have had more modest ambitions? No, she finally decided with determination. The old saying came to mind--if you strike at a king, you must kill him. They had struck at their team's "king", all right, and gotten a total victory. Still, Jean was showing signs of remorse. Feeling that Scott, as their leader, shouldn't be embarrassed like that. Maria snorted to herself. The girl needed some steel in her spine! And she, Maria Gianelli, was just the one to give it to her.

The session had gone well, Maria passing with what Scott called "flying colors". She was in the study hall later, reading Galbraith's _The Affluent Society_   for her social studies class, when a mental clarion call came from the Professor.

_X-Men! Assemble in the front garden, in costume, at once! The Mansion is under attack!_

_What the hell...?_ Maria Shifted into a gas state, went through the vents with lightning speed to her room, got into her costume, and ran out to the stairway landing. There she encountered Jean, in costume, and was a bit surprised when Jean looked around her tentatively.

"Do you know what the matter is, Shift?" Jean asked, and Maria was surprised by her voice--it seemed stiff, almost toneless. She just shook her head.

"Sorry, Jeannie. Guess we'll know when we assemble."

"Yes, I suppose so," Jean answered, as Maria ran down the stairs and out the front door, assuming that Jean was on her heels. But when she got out into the garden, she saw the rest of team already there--including Jean. _Huh?_

"Jean--" Maria started to say, but the Professor put a hand up.

 _X-Men,_ he told them mentally. _We are under attack from the Mad Thinker and his Android._

There was a murmur from the others. Maria, still puzzled as to how Jean got there ahead of her, wasn't listening too closely. The Mad Thinker. His "Awesome" Android. Big sumbitch, could mimic the powers of anyone who attacked it. Totally mindless. Didn't sound too much like any kind of threat. Why on Earth was the Thinker doing this? They had whipped him once, with the FF's help. Yes, it was before Maria had joined the team, but still...

 _Shift. Shift!_ the Professor called out to her mentally, and Maria came to.

_Yes, sir?_

_You will take the point. Advance upon the Android. Halt any advance he makes on the Mansion, any way you have to. Try, if possible, making direct physical assaults upon the Android, as this shall only strengthen it. The others shall be on your flank, awaiting an opportunity. And all of you, be on the lookout for any sign of the Thinker himself. This attack might be some sort of diversion. That is all._

Maria walked south on the lawn, towards Graymalkins Lane, on the lookout for the Android, but also still very much wondering about Jean's magic trick of getting ahead of her. _Did she use her telekinesis to go out a window? I didn't see her. How the hell...?_

There. Ahead of her, on her right--tromping through a flowerbed, bare for the winter--the Android. Maria was a bit more impressed than she thought she would be. It must have been a good twelve feet tall, maybe more. It lurched towards her. She Shifted to eagle form and flew around him a few times, the Android taking swipes at her as she did so. Still, confusing it wasn't the same thing as stopping it, and soon the Android resumed its march towards the Mansion.

Maria landed, and Shifted back to normal. The Android, its attention span, such as it was, distracted, lurched towards her. Maria Shifted into one of her "ent" forms--a giant chestnut--and spread her arms, which soon resembled a giant web of branches. The Android blundered into them, and stopped. It pushed forward, and Maria felt the force of its strength. In this form, she was considerably stronger than her normal self, and still she was barely able to hold the Android at bay. He pushed even harder, and Maria--to her dismay--could see the Android adapting, turning into a chestnut-form itself, and pressing the attack against her.

* * *

Jean was striding carefully about a hundred yards to Maria's right. To her right, about the same distance from her, was Iceman. Cyclops and Beast were flanked on Maria's left, and Angel was flying over their heads, this way and that, looking for signs of the Thinker, or any other threats. There--Jean heard the sounds of combat to her left. Maria must have encountered the Android. She moved towards Shift--

And immediately ran into the Thinker, wearing a helmet and carrying a large sort of gun. "My dear," he said, almost apologetically, as he encountered Jean. "My deepest apologies for this ruse--for such it is. My Android is here merely as a diversion. This helmet--" he said, indicating the one he was wearing-- "is designed to keep Xavier from mentally interfering. It can't keep him at bay forever, needless to say, but for the nonce it will do. You, however, my dear, unfortunately--"

Jean scowled. "You know, mister, you talk even more than the Beast does. And he's a lot wittier." She tried to grab the gun in his hands telekinetically, but the Thinker just frowned and shook his head.

"Foolish, Marvel Girl. Very foolish." He looked at his watch. "To think that I would not have taken your power into account. I, of course, have. And it is precisely ten forty-eight a.m."

Ten forty-eight? What did that have to do with anythng? Again she tried to grab the gun telekinetically--

\--And nothing happened.

The Thinker sighed. "My dear Miss Grey--you don't mind my calling you by your proper name? No?--I _told_ you I had taken your power into account, and I have. Just as my Android can adapt to any power directed at it, _I_ am surrounded by a field right now that cancels any powers directed against _me._ Do you honestly think that I would appear here, in my enemies' own home base, without some such precaution?"

Jean paused, folded her arms. "OK, mister," she said scornfully. "Whoopee for you. You sure have _that_   figured out. What the heck is this all about, anyway? Why is your Android blundering about like a punch-drunk prizefighter? And wasn't one licking enough for you?"

"The answers, my dear," he said genially, "are--in order--you shall find that out any moment, I haven't the slightest concern about my Android's movements, and yes, indeed, one licking was more than sufficient. Which is why this time around I'm going to win."

" 'Win', huh?" Jean asked. "In the middle of our own grounds? _That_ I'd like to see."

"I rather doubt that you will," he said. "Ah--here Madelyne is now. I had her reconnoiter the Mansion a bit, to get its imprint into her memory. Madelyne! This is Miss Jean Grey. Miss Grey--Madelyne. I don't think we'll require any more introductions than that."

Jean turned at the sound of someone approaching--and stopped dead. She was looking at--herself!

"What the hell--" She turned from the newcomer, back to the Thinker, and to "Madelyne" again. In the background, they heard the sound of something large and heavy falling to the ground.

"Ah," the Thinker said with satisfaction. "That must be the defeat of my Android. Well-- _that's_   no surprise. It's never won a battle yet, after all. Well done, X-Men!" he called out to the others, as they surrounded the small area of the lawn where Jean, the Thinker, and her _doppelganger_   were congregated. Jean could hear the sound of the Professor's wheelchair approaching from the Mansion, as well.

They all arrived--and stopped dead. They looked at the Thinker, and Jean, and her double--and froze. Finally, it was Bobby who spoke.

"What--the--hell--" he said, and the Thinker nodded eagerly.

"Quite so," he said, a friendly smile on his face. "Quite so, Mr Drake. It might have been amusing at this point to play the old who's-the-real-Marvel-Girl game. Maybe have your Jean and my Madelyne do antics in front of a supposed mirror, like Groucho and Harpo in _Duck Soup._ But no, this is Madelyne--" he said, pointing to Jean's double-- "and _this,_ of course, is Miss Grey." He nodded to Jean.

"Oh?" Scott said, a suspicious look on his face. Jean sighed. End _this_ quick, at least.

She turned to Scott. "Exlax," she said severely. Maria shut her eyes, bit her tongue. Scott had no reaction, then nodded slightly.

"OK," he said. "You _are_   Jean." He turned to "Madelyne". "And just what is the purpose of this--what? Robot?"

"Please, Scott," the Thinker said, a hint of wounded pride in his voice. "Please do not confuse me with that overeducated peasant von Doom. Madelyne is an _android._   Like my not-so-awesome playmate you just defeated. But Madelyne is so much more than _he_   could ever be."

"So _that's_ it," Jean heard Maria say quietly, and the Thinker nodded enthusiastically.

"Indeed, Maria," he said. "Indeed. You begin to understand now. You saw Madelyne in the Mansion, and wondered how she beat you out the front door. Well-- _that's_ how. And now, if you'll excuse me, I'm going to steal Jean's powers with this gun here, and transfer them to Madelyne, and we'll see what we see."

There was a stunned silence from the others. "Uh--am I missing something," Maria said, "or do we _not_ have you totally surrounded and completely at our mercy?"

The Thinker smiled appreciatively. "Well, my dear Maria, it certainly _appears_ that such is the case. But of course, in reality it is not." He turned to Jean. " _She_   can tell you. I am surrounded by a field that cancels out your powers, should you turn them against me."

Cyclops pondered this. "Fine," he said. "But what's to prevent me, say, just knocking you cold with my fist? Or calling the police and having them take you away?"

The Thinker sighed a bit impatiently. "Scott, Scott, Scott--please. Just _think_ for a moment. I am no fool. I _am_   here. Don't you think that just maybe, I have taken this possibility into consideration?"

"Your field," the Professor said, speaking up for the first time. "It not only protects you from our powers, but also works as a normal force-field, as well."

The Thinker smiled eagerly. "Excellent, Charles! Of course. Now, if we are through wasting time--"

"Hold on, buster," Jean said sternly. "Nobody is going to steal _my_ powers out from under me. Especially to put into this--this--" She indicated the android version of herself with disgust.

"On the contrary, Jean," the Thinker said, fiddling with the gun as he spoke. "That's exactly what is going to happen. I spent ten million dollars for just that purpose, after all, and that kind of money isn't chicken-feed, even to _me._ You're ready, dear Madelyne?" he asked the android, who had been waiting patiently all this while.

"Yes, Master," "she" said in a quiet, unanimated voice.

The Thinker shrugged. "Still having a bit of trouble getting the right tone in her voice," he said. "It's really harder than you'd think, making an android appear human. Oh, well. _This_ process will expedite matters."

"No!" Scott cried, and hit the force-field with his power beam. But the energy merely bounced against the field and reflected off in all directions, and the Thinker frowned.

"You're wasting your time, Scott," he said severely. "And now, if you'll excuse me--" And with a smooth, quick gesture he aimed the gun at Jean and pulled the trigger.

* * *

Maria could have kicked herself. She _knew_ there was something odd about the "Jean" she had encountered inside the Mansion. But who could have expected _this,_ after all?

Warren leaned over to her. " 'Exlax'?" he asked, a frown on his face.

She shook her head. "I'm sworn to secrecy."

"OK," he said in a dissatisfied tone of voice, and they turned their attention back to the drama unfolding.

"And now, if you'll excuse me--" the Thinker said, and pulled the trigger. Jean shrieked, and fell to the ground, writhing in agony.

"Jean!" Scott called out, and bent down to see to her. The others seemed to freeze in their tracks, unsure what to do. The Thinker smiled slightly.

"She'll be fine," he said. "It _is_   extremely painful, I must admit--I'd be lying if I suggested otherwise, and I am a very honest man. But this pain will pass relatively quickly. My gun--" And indeed, the machine was glowing red-hot-- "is now full of potential power, taken from Miss Grey. I shall fire the gun again, and it shall enter Madelyne. Are you ready, my dear?" he asked the android, who merely nodded.

"Quite so," he said. "As I said--Miss Grey will be fine in a few minutes. With her powers back, I might add. This process _could_   have been fatal, but I moved heaven and earth to ensure that it would not be. Really, X-Men, you should all be grateful to me for my considera--"

Scott gave an animal scream and aimed his most powerful optic blast at the Thinker. It merely dissolved into red energy beams as his force-field sparkled in the December sun.

"That wasn't very smart, Scott," the Thinker said. "After all, you _know_   by now that your powers are useless against me. And the beams might have injured one of your fellow X-Men. I never lie, Scott--"

"Shut up! Shut up! Shut up!" Scott cried, then took a deep breath and mastered himself. He looked at Jean, listened to her heartbeat, felt her forehead.

"How is she, Scott?" the Professor asked, and Scott nodded.

"She's breathing easily, Professor," Scott answered. "She'll be OK. But she's had a bad shock, and experienced a great deal of pain." He looked at the Thinker. "And I assure you, mister, every ounce of pain you inflicted on her will be returned to you tenfold."

"Of course," the Thinker said, not really listening. He played a little more with the gun, and turned to Madelyne. "Are we ready, dear?"

"Yes, Master." The android stood there, acquiescing in whatever the Thinker was prepared to do. He merely smiled, and again turned the gun on, giving Madelyne the power he had stolen from Marvel Girl.

The android turned red, and bowed slightly, as if under the weight of the energy flooding her system. Then she began to cry, a cry that soon turned into a raging howl, as if it, too, was in agony. The Thinker frowned.

"No," he mumbled. "No--this should not be happening." He looked at the gun. "No--it's calibrated all right. No, there is something happening here that I did not take into account--I _hate_ it when that happens--"

He turned off the gun, and watched Madelyne. The android, still beet red all over, was shaking, hands to its stomach, bent over in agony. Soon it was writhing on the ground, and the X-Men watched in horror as the android body began to steam.

"Master!" the android called out. "Master! I--I do not understand. This was not supposed to happen--"

The Thinker just watched dumbly, and it seemed to Maria that just maybe a look of regret passed his face for a moment. Then it was replaced by a look of scientific dispassion, and that did not change as the android steamed more heavily than ever. The android's voice got higher and more shrill, and it started to shake.

"MMMaaasstterr--MMMaaassttteeerr--" it wailed, and then it gave a great shudder and went still. The Thinker looked at it, opened its eyes, put his head to its chest. Finally, he just shook his head and got to his feet.

"It's quite dead," he said, voice full of discouragement. "Quite. I do not understand. Why on earth did _this_   happen?" He looked at Jean, who was sitting up now, Cyclops' arms around her. "I can only theorize that there's something about _you,_ Miss Grey, that the computers cannot simulate or understand. Something that poor Madelyne wasn't able to adapt to." He looked thoughtful. "Now--I wonder what that 'something' is. It's a _very_ interesting question, really. If I had the opportunity, I would take you with me and possibly dissect you, in hopes of finding out. But that is _not_   a serious option," he said, looking at the X-Men surrounding Jean with very grim expressions indeed on their faces.

"Your plan has failed, Thinker," the Professor said. "You have inflicted needless suffering on a brave young woman to no purpose whatever. Get out, and take your androids with you."

The Thinker looked at his gun. "No, Professor," he said, a sly smile on his face. "I still have a card to play. It cannot really do me any practical good, but it will assuage my curiosity--and I assure you all, my curiosity means a great deal to me." He looked at them. "I have _two_   doses in this gun--doses which will enable me to depower a mutant. And every one of you is capable of receiving the dose, I assure you. Naturally, I must choose." He looked Maria right in the eyes. "But there really is no doubt about the matter. None at all."

Maria froze. _No._ This couldn't be happening. It wasn't happening. She was having a nightmare. "No," she was able to get out of her throat, somehow. "Please, no."

The whole world froze. She saw the amused look on the Thinker's face, the quizzical expression of the Professor, the emerging horror on Jean's face, the alert posture of Cyclops, the compassion of the Beast as he realized that something terrible was threatening her, the bafflement on Iceman's face, the sheer look of black hatred directed at the Thinker by the Angel. "No. Don't. Please."

The Thinker laughed, and for once made no attempt at urbanity. It was the laugh of a madman, pure and simple, and he pressed the button of the gun again. Maria shrieked, and felt a burst of energy hit her.

The pain was the first thing she felt. It was overwhelming, indescribable, and pushed everything else--even her panic--out of her mind. She kept shrieking, and fell to the ground, to her knees, face covered by her hands. _Her hands!_   No. No, no, no, no, no...

Her hands were "human". She felt her body, underneath her X-Men costume. It was "human". The pain remained, and she cried out because of it. But every second that passed, she realized more and more what had happened. She was "human". She was "Anna". She wasn't a mutant right now, she was that girl whose existence she had shared with Jean on that day they met, her great secret, her great shame, and now all of them, all her fellow X-Men, the Professor--they would all know. Her soul was stripped naked, and she rolled in the dirt, howling like a madwoman.

Somewhere in the background she could hear voices with some part of her mind--the small part that was still lucid. "--Anna? It's Anna!" " _That's_   what Maria really looks like?" "My God--it was _her_   at the Coffee-a-Go-Go--" "Why hasn't she shown us this part of her before?" "Professor--I'll explain later--but she's having a breakdown! Maria! Stay with us!" "Jean--levitate her into the Mansion. She can't move or function on her own right now. I'm afraid of a total catatonic breakdown--" These words, and more like them, all meaningless, went through Maria Gianelli's mind as she vaguely sensed being lifted and moved. It didn't matter. Nothing mattered. The entire Universe consisted of nothing but shame and humiliation. At some point she realized that she had changed back to her "normal" mutant self, but she barely noticed, and that didn't matter, either. Her world shrivelled further and further, to the point where there was nothing left of it. The shame and humiliation were so great that she couldn't face them or ignore them. So she went away, and the Universe disappeared.


	26. To Hell and Back

BOOK FOUR: COMING INTO THE LIGHT

* * *

Chapter Twenty-Six

* * *

Charles Xavier was sitting by the bedside of Maria, holding her hands and attempting to get inside her mind. The girl's resistance was staggering. She had shut out everything, and all he could sense was a terrible residue of shame and humiliation that made communication with her psyche almost impossible. The more he tried to reach her, the stronger her resistance became. _Maria. Maria. Please don't shut me out._ But it was no use. The girl had taken refuge somewhere so deep that he was afraid to probe further for fear of inflicting permanent harm to her psyche. But if he didn't find some way to reach her, she might just suffer a complete psychotic breakdown, one that might take her years to recover from--if she ever did.

The others had all stopped by at one point or another to see how she was doing. Charles, bent on his task, had been able to tell them little. Apparently the Thinker and his androids had disappeared, and good riddance. _He_ could be dealt with another day. And yes, indeed, Charles Xavier had every intention of dealing with the Thinker.

His only substantive discussion had been with Jean. Her visit, in fact, had been rather disturbing to him, because it had led to a dispute of sorts between them. She had inquired about Maria, and he had told her that nothing had changed since the girl's collapse. Then Jean told him about their first meeting, and her revealing to Jean of her "human" persona, and how desperately the girl asked Jean to keep it a secret. Charles had no problem with that in and of itself--indeed, he would expect nothing less of Jean, to keep such a confidence. Charles sighed to himself. If Maria had come to him right away and explained matters--perhaps there might have been something he could have done for her--

No, that sort of second-guessing was useless. First of all, what evidence was there that he _could_ have helped her? Had he been of any help to Scott, after all, in getting the poor boy to control his eyebeams? Secondly, Maria--as he was seeing at this moment--regarded this persona--"Anna"--as something so deep and primal that her very sanity depended on it being her secret. Well, hers--and Jean's. Charles felt a burst of pride regarding that--that Jean was able to overcome Maria's defenses so totally at their very first meeting, and get the girl to confide in her. Jean was his true disciple in so many ways, and he felt that she was in some respects already wiser than he was. That was the only reason their dispute had not become an issue between them.

He had asked her, when she was visiting Maria, if there was anything else about the girl she could tell him. And Jean had hesitated, and finally shrugged.

"Professor--there is. But this is, if anything, even more traumatic to Maria than 'Anna' herself is. I don't feel that I can tell you without Maria's permission."

"Jean--the girl is in critical condition. I am trying to keep her from drifting away from us, possibly forever. _Any_   information you can provide may help in preventing that outcome."

And Jean had looked hard at Maria, and also, Charles knew, hard within herself, and finally shook her head. "Professor--it is my judgment that telling you this now would do more harm than good. If she knew that you knew--that anyone knew--it would push her even further away from us, into her own misery and despair. Please, sir, you _must_ trust me on this point."

Charles had just sat there for some time, then finally nodded unhappily. For the moment, he left it at that. But the matter was not resolved in his mind. If he had to have it out with Jean, then so be it. For now, all he could do was keep trying to reach into Maria's mind and make contact with the girl.

* * *

Maria felt happy. She was walking through the zoo, holding onto Mommy's hand. She knew she had been a good girl, because she hadn't been sent to the Other Place for a very long time now. Mommy almost had stopped threatening her with the Other Place, and Maria hoped that just maybe she'd never have to go there again. She loved the zoo and the animals. They walked through the Monkey House, and she laughed at the orangutans and the gorillas and the cute little chimpanzees. At the very end of the Monkey House there was a cage, and there was only one animal in it. It was a monkey with blue fur, and he was reading a book. She was surprised--she didn't know that monkeys could read books--and he turned to Maria and said, "oh my stars and garters, young lady, you _are_   in trouble now", and Maria screamed and ran after Mommy, who had gone on ahead of her. But Maria couldn't find her, and she panicked, and ran into a man with no hair sitting in a wheelchair. He turned to her and said, "Maria--please let me help you." And Maria screamed again, and ran completely out of the Monkey House, out of the zoo, until she was all alone, and she felt a blessed relief because this was the only thing she wanted, to be alone and away from everyone else, especially the blue monkey with the book and the man in the wheelchair...

* * *

Late that afternoon, Scott, Jean, Warren, Hank, and Bobby met in Scott's room for a council of war. The Professor was still with Maria, and while the girl was no better, she was no worse, either. He still was trying to reach her on the psychic plane. Scott shut the door to his room, and faced the others arrayed around him.

"First. Jean--how are _you_ feeling?" he asked. Jean shrugged.

"All right. I'm physically beat, and my head and shoulders still ache. But I'm an X-Man. This sort of thing comes with the job. I'll be OK."

"Fine," Scott said, and he realized how difficult he was finding keeping his rage in check. The Thinker had _harmed_ Jean. For that, he wanted to kill him with his bare hands. Which was why he had to be extra careful _not_ to feel that way. "I have to say first--I've already apologized to the Professor, and now I am to you: I let the Thinker bait me, goad me to the breaking point. You all saw it--my burst of temper. That should not have happened."

"My God, Scott," Bobby said with a trace of humor in his voice. "If _that's_ the worst thing you do as leader of the X-Men, we'll be damned lucky. Forget it." The others emphatically agreed with this, and Scott just shrugged.

"OK," he said. "Thanks, all of you. Now. Maria." He shut his eyes, and felt tears coming to them. _Stop that, Scottie. It does no one any good._ He opened them, glad his visor kept his tears from showing. "I can't even imagine what she's been going through all this time. To have--her--"

"Anna," Jean said softly.

"--Yes. Anna. To have _her_   potentially inside her, that kind of beauty, and only able to _be_ her a few minutes a week. And unable to tell anyone about it. Terrified as to how we'd all react."

"Except for Jean," Warren said, an odd emotion in his voice that Scott couldn't figure out.

"Yes," Jean said in that same quiet voice. "Except for me. She revealed 'Anna' to me at our first meeting, in Pennsylvania. She swore me to secrecy. Scott, boys--she _had_   to tell someone. And we had already bonded strongly. She went all the way, took a chance on me. I hope I have deserved her trust."

"You have to ask?" Warren said, still in the grip of that emotion, and Scott realized that it was simple rage, the anger he felt too, that the Thinker had done this to Maria.

Jean, still speaking softly--and by God, Scott realized, _she_   was in the grip of pure rage, too. He had never seen Jean like this, and he was suddenly feeling a little afraid--said: "Maria, of course, as a prank, came to your birthday party, Scott, at the Coffee-a-Go-Go in the guise of an old friend of mine from Annandale. I fell in with her as soon as I saw what she was doing." Jean smiled slightly, and Scott felt a measure of relief at that smile. "She was certain that none of you would recognize her. 'Thick as bricks', I believe was the term she used." She turned to Hank. "Not to pick on you, Hank, but you didn't suspect?"

Hank, who appeared to still be in shock, shook his head. "No, fair damsel, not for a second. 'Brick' is a good sobriquet. I deserve to have one smashed over my head. A nice, heavy one."

"No," Jean said, taking Hank's hand and squeezing it. "No, Hank. Why _should_ any of you suspect such a thing? After all, Maria is--what she is. Who could think anything else?"

Hank looked at the floor. "Oh? Not even after the 'Bride of Frankenstein'?" He looked, sounded, lost, and Scott on an impulse walked over and squeezed his shoulder. Hank smiled at him, and looked at the rest of them. "I have no idea what knowing the truth about 'Anna' might have accomplished. It certainly would not have helped _me._ " He shrugged. "It is no secret that I have strong feelings for Maria."

The others nodded, and Scott noticed that Jean was looking very unhappy. Why? Hank went on. "Indeed. She feels that her looks make her incapable of love. Now, perhaps, we all realize why. To have 'Anna' inside her, but unable to manifest her--" Hank suddenly slammed one very large and heavy foot on the floor savagely. "As if _I_   care! But Maria will never believe that. Especially _now_."

The others looked at Hank with sympathy. Jean, though, just looked unhappier than ever. _She knows something. Something she_ _still_ _hasn't told us._ Scott almost demanded on the spot that Jean tell him, but decided against it. That could wait.

He turned to the others. "X-Men--Maria has been in her own private hell ever since she became a mutant. Whatever the truth about her, it was _her_ decision to reveal it--to Jean, as she did, or to whomever. When and as _she_   wished. The Thinker injured her, physically--as he did Jean. But enemies have injured us before. That isn't why we're all so angry now." There was emphatic nodding, and Bobby said "hear, hear."

"No," Scott continued. "This is different. The Thinker violated Maria on a level so deep I don't even have words for it. 'Psychic rape' might be a very crude approximation. And he did it so callously, in such an eager and gloating manner--" He had to stop, take a breath. Jean was immediately by his side, taking his hand, and she remained there. "No. This _is_   different. Someone whom we all love has been egregiously and wantonly attacked, and is in a fight for her very soul as a result of it. We have to depend upon her own strength--and of course, the aid of the Professor--to pull her through. We have to hope that happens. But in the meantime--" He looked around at each of them. "We have to consider what we do about the Thinker. I assume there is agreement that we have to make him pay for what he did?"

Every head nodded, and in every pair of eyes was determination. "Very well," Scott said. "The X-Men do not kill. That will not change, not even for _him._ But there is no reason why we can't make the Thinker _wish_ he were dead."

Every head nodded at this. "Scott," Jean said, "I speak for every one of us when I say that we won't rest until this is done."

"You scarcely need to ask where _I_   stand," Hank said.

"Or me," Bobby added.

"Oh, it's unanimous," Warren said. He put his hand out, and soon all of their hands were joined together. "To our mutual task," Scott said.

* * *

They all retired early that night. Maria was sleeping soundly, but still not permitting the Professor any access to her mind. He simply stayed in the study where she was lying on a couch, leaning back in his chair to doze when he needed to. He was going to be with the girl twenty-four hours a day until he was successful in his endeavor. Scott was exhausted, but lay back in his bed, unable to sleep.

He heard his door open. Jean, wearing her negligee, slipped into his bed. She hugged him for dear life, and he cradled her in his arms.

"Oh, Scott--" she said, and he felt her shiver. He caressed her back, and stroked her hair, and finally felt her subside into deep sobs.

"Are you still in pain?" he asked gently. She looked at him, green eyes bright and tear-filled.

"Not really," she said. "It doesn't matter. It was pretty bad for awhile, but there were more important things to worry about."

He grunted his agreement.

"Scott--" Jean said, almost tentatively.

"Yes, Jean?" he replied patiently.

"--Here." His door opened telekinetically, and the camera that she had used to take his jock strap photo floated into the room. The door closed again gently. "Please, Scott. Take this. The film hasn't been developed. Destroy it--and the camera, too, if that is your wish. And please, accept my apology."

"You needn't apologize for anything, Jean," Scott said. "Ever."

"But I do," she said. "I wanted to get you, and I did. But it was a hollow victory. I just couldn't keep the camera." She sighed. "I guess I don't have the killer instinct after all."

Scott smiled. "You're very different from Maria. _She'd_   have kept the camera until the Day of Judgment."

"Oh, Maria is incorrigible!" Jean said, a little cross. "A very bad influence on me."

"Terrible," he said, a smile in his tone. She looked at him.

"Scott--did you _know_ I was going to do this?"

"I was pretty sure you would," he said. "I know you, Jeannie. You were capable of waging a campaign like this--and carrying it through to a successful conclusion. But when the chips were down, I felt that you didn't really want to keep a blackmail photo of me." He paused. "I was going to give you a couple of weeks--and then, to be honest, I was going to do something about it, if you didn't. I'm glad you did."

She snuggled even closer to him. "I'm glad too, Scott. That really _was_ a tight spot we put you in--in the closet, I mean."

He sighed. "I know. I thought surrendering was better than any other option right then, because I was sure even then that you wouldn't be ruthless enough to take full advantage of your...victory."

"You thought all that through when you were--so full of yourself?"

Scott laughed. "Jean!"

"Well--were you?"

"Pretty sure-despite, yes, being 'full of myself'."

"Oh, my." She kissed him on his cheek. "Well, then--you were _really_   master of the situation all along. Delighted to hear it."

Scott chuckled. "Hardly! Barely adequate controller of the situation describes it better."

"Whatever." She looked at him seriously, and the green of her eyes in the dark reminded him of a cat. "Scott, I enjoyed that--at least, until my conscience got the better of me. But you _must_ , always, let me know if, when, I cross the line. I'm not talking about your role as leader of the X-Men. I'm talking about _us._ Of you as my man, and me as your woman. I never want to do anything that will shame either of us."

"If you ever do, believe me, Jean, I'll let you know. You've never come close yet."

"Good." She put his hand on her breast, and pressed it there. "Is that a good position for you to get some sleep, or will it make your poor arm numb?"

"You're staying here?"

"Yes. For now, anyway."

"Then I'll take my chances."

"Good night, my love."

"Good night, my love."

* * *

Maria was alone, in the very middle of the Universe. She knew it was the middle because in every direction she looked, she could see stars. Going into infinity. _She_   was the center of all existence, and everywhere she looked there was no sentience, no life, just the cold of space and the bright lights of the stars. She was the only mind, the only will, in all of creation.

She waited a long time. A very long time. Perhaps an eternity. Millions, billions, of years passed as she stood at the center of creation, thinking all by herself. Sometimes she reached out with her mind, to see if any other intelligence was out there, but always she reached back before any contact was made. Other minds were going to hurt her, after all. She must never forget that.

Sometimes she sensed a mind probing for her, asking for her. She was always able to avoid this mind, pull away whenever it approached. But as the eons passed, she sometimes wished she could talk to this mind. It would be good to talk, she'd feel in moments of weakness. And this mind seemed benevolent. If only--

 _No._ The benevolence was a trap. That way lay only all the things she had gone away to escape. She didn't want to risk it again.

But the ages passed, and passed some more, and finally she tentatively reached out. She didn't want to stay here forever. Her desire to move from the center of the Universe finally was greater than the fears that brought her here. Those fears--they were a wall of fire that she had to pass through in order to live again. She had been running away for so very, very long...

Tears were in her eyes, but at last she reached out to the probing mind. _Here. Here I am._

* * *

Charles awoke with a start. It was mid-morning, and he realized with a curse that he had fallen asleep at dawn, and had remained so for hours. He blinked, and suddenly realized that Maria was open to his psychic probing.

 _Maria?_ he asked, and yes, there unquestionably was a response.

 _Here I am, Professor._ The thoughts were faint and still unfocused, indeed still panic-stricken. He tried to reassure her as well as he could.

 _Maria. Do not try to do anything you do not want to. I am here, if you wish to talk. For now, that is all. Be at complete peace._ Maria. 

_Yes, sir._ And that was all for some time, as Charles probed gently on the surface of her thoughts, trying to send her as much reassurance as he could. After awhile, she contacted him again.

_Am I alive, Professor?_

_Of course, Maria._

_Oh. That's good, I suppose._ A short pause, then: _Professor--what happened?_

_Not now, Maria._

_No, it's OK, sir. I know something bad happened. It had to do with Anna, didn't it?_

_You are comfortable speaking of this, Maria?_

_That's a silly question, sir. Of course not. I'll never be_ _comfortable_ _speaking about this. But I'm not going to remain in a catatonic state for the rest of my life, either. I guess I have too much vitality for that._

Charles almost laughed out loud. _I guess you do, Maria._

 _I guess everyone freaked out when they saw_ _her_.

_That's a pretty good way of putting it, Maria._

_Yes, sir._

Charles felt a weariness inside him, a mental and physical exhaustion brought on by the nearly twenty-four hour ordeal he had just passed through--perhaps the worst psychic ordeal he had ever known, certainly the worst since his encounter with Farouk in Cairo. Maria could sense it.

_Sir--are_ _you_ _all right?_

_No, Maria, I cannot say that I am. The past day has been a great strain on me._

She seemed to pause, to think this over. _I can see that, sir,_ she finally answered. _Sir--am I in any trouble?_

Charles was astonished by the question. _Why on earth should_ _you_ _be in any trouble, Maria?_

_You know, sir--not telling you about 'Anna' from the start._

_My dear child! Of course not!_

_Good_ , she thought with an almost laser-like clarity that made Charles smile to himself.

_Maria-I can't describe the relief and joy I feel, to hear you come back to yourself. I wasn't sure that you ever would._

_Just from one day?_

_Even so. You were in such a terrible place-- I didn't know what to expect._

_Sir--who is Gabbie Haller?_

Charles was unable to contain his astonishment. _How on earth did you come up with_ _her_ _name?_

_I heard it in your head just now, sir. You once tried to do with her what you did with me. You succeeded, too. But it took a lot longer._

_The circumstances were somewhat different, Maria. Gabbie was a survivor of the Nazi death camps. She had been in a mental coma for many years. But she was willing to let me in and heal her, even so. I was able to help her then. In your case, you kept me out completely. I frankly did not think anyone could do that as thoroughly as you managed to do. You hid yourself down to your core. I could have broken through, but only at the risk of causing unimaginable psychic damage._

_Yes, sir. But I had an advantage Gabbie didn't have--I had_ _you_ _, sir. And the X-Men. I knew you were there for me, all of you. Somewhere on some level I couldn't even acknowledge, I felt all of you--your love, your concern. I had that, and I knew I did. It was enough for me not to get so lost that I'd never find my way back._

Charles bowed in his chair, tears in his eyes. Those words, all by themselves, were enough to vindicate all that he had done here with his students. _Thank you, Maria._

_Thank_ _you_ _, sir. I don't want you to think this is over. Things are never that easy. It's going to take time. I'm still very much suffering from shock and trauma. But I'm going to be OK in the end._

_Yes, my dear, I know._

_Good. I think I'm going to turn my mind off now, if you'll excuse me. I'm tired._

_Of course. Sleep well, Maria._

_You too, sir. You seem beat._

Charles lay back in his chair, and slept for nine straight hours.

* * *

Charles Xavier looked down at Maria, sleeping very soundly now. The girl's breathing was strong and regular. The physical after-effects of the Thinker's assault seemed to be wearing off, as they had for Jean. But the trauma remained, and she would not be shaking that off so quickly. Even now, his gentlest probings of the girl's mind sent shudders through her entire psychic foundation. He was walking on eggshells. He still could not afford the slightest mistake. In retrospect, he was glad that he had not forced the issue with Jean concerning the secret Maria was still holding back.

He shook his head sadly. That secret--he felt he could guess it now. Seeing "Anna"--much now made sense to him. _Poor Maria--and poor Hank._ My God. The fates had not been kind to this girl. Could she be helped? God alone knew. But he would give her every ounce of support he could, whatever the outcome. But he must never make the mistake of seeming to pity her. For Maria, that would be the last straw.

He leaned back in his wheelchair, suddenly overcome by a wild desire to just stand the hell up and walk away from it. Those feelings had been less and less common as the time passed, but they still haunted him once in awhile. The others had no idea how much he really hated his chair, and he was careful not to let them realize it. He wondered if it was worth his time to keep working on his artificial braces. Better to let things stay as they are, not to get his hopes up?

To hell with it. This wasn't the time for such musings. Maria stirred, and Charles gently entered her mind. He sensed her recognizing him, and suddenly, he felt some of her defenses dropping.

_Hi, Professor._

_Hello, Maria. How are you feeling?_

_Tired, sir. Real tired. But I'll live._

_I rather think you shall, at that. I'm very proud of you, my dear._

_Thanks, sir. I guess. It's weird--_

_Yes, Maria?_

_It's only been a little over a day in the real world. But for me subjectively--I feel like I've been to hell and back. That whole ages of the world have come and gone. But at the same time, that it really_ _hasn't_ _been that long, either. It's difficult to explain._

_That's a perfectly natural reaction to psychic trauma, Maria. The very first evil mutant I ever encountered was a man named Farouk, in Cairo. He, too, was a telepath. At the height of our conflict, he told me that physically, death would be instantaneous. But mentally, it would be an eternal agony, seeming to last forever. He meant that fate for me, but reaped it himself. There is no prodigy that the mind cannot perform--especially in extreme conditions. And your mind has been in a very extreme condition, indeed, these past thirty-six hours._

_Yes, sir... Professor? Is Jean OK?_

_She's fine, Maria. And very concerned about you. She has been here often to see how you are doing. As have all the others._

_And they don't hate me for keeping 'Anna' from them?_

_My dear girl--_ Charles was unable to keep his emotion out of his thoughts, and he could sense Maria receiving them, and he was glad of that. _Maria--we all love you. There has been some sympathy for your--predicament. I know how much you hate that, but it's a very human reaction, especially from those who love you. And there has been a great deal of anger directed at the Thinker, for what he did to Jean and yourself. Above all there has been concern, and hope for your recovery. I feel this so strongly in the psychic atmosphere of the Mansion that it crowds out everything else._

_I'm glad, sir. And, Professor--?_

_Yes, Maria?_

_There's something else. Something I want you and the others to know. You are my family, and I'm going to confide totally in you all._

Charles was unable to respond for a moment, unable to trust the rush of emotion he was experiencing. He was now convinced that he had guessed correctly. _Yes, Maria. Whatever you wish._


	27. Coming Clean

Chapter Twenty-Seven

* * *

That evening, Scott and Jean met with the Professor. Scott opened his mind to Charles, revealing what had happened the previous night at the X-Men's council of war. Charles nodded with satisfaction.

_Excellent, Scott. Very well done, on all your parts. Believe me, the Thinker is very much on my mind as well._

He then turned to vocal speech, and said to Jean: "My dear, I'm sorry that this has eclipsed your birthday tomorrow."

Jean made an impatient gesture. "Oh, the heck with _that,_ sir! I've forgotten all about it."

"Well, I have not," Charles said, a slight smile on his face. "The others haven't, either." He suddenly had a serious look on his face. "You feel well, Jean?"

"Ready to take on a whole village of evil mutants, sir."

"Well, let's hope that _that_   won't be necessary soon," he said with a chuckle. "But I do know that tomorrow night, the others were going to celebrate your birthday at the Coffee-a-Go-Go, as they did with Scott. This indeed seems to be becoming a tradition with the X-Men." He sighed. "I must confess, from what I have heard of the place, I do not quite understand the attraction this establishment has for all of you. But then, I have one foot in the grave, so my opinion hardly matters. I see no reason why you all should not go and have a good time."

Jean frowned. "Maria--"

"Will be fine. _We_ shall be fine. If the Thinker, or Magneto, or anyone else, should disturb our repose we'll send for you. But I feel that your birthday is more important for you to celebrate in the manner you choose, rather than sitting around here underfoot, unable to be of any practical use. Incidentally, Maria agrees. She informed me psychically that she would--and these are her words--'wallop your bottom good', if you didn't go out tomorrow night."

Jean smiled at Scott. "Well, I guess that makes it an order, doesn't it?"

* * *

The crowd at the Coffee-a-Go-Go was slim tonight, a fact that Jean appreciated. They had again gotten hold of a birthday cake--despite the doleful comments of Tom, the proprietor, that they were turning the place into a Howard Johnson's--and a few of the regular _habitues_ had joined in the singing, especially a few younger males who tried to talk up Jean. Who had just smiled sweetly and held on even tighter to Scott's arm.

_Eighteen. Do I feel any different? Yes. Yes, I do._

She turned to Scott, who was at that moment gazing at her, seemingly unable to believe his luck in being there, at that moment, with _her._ Jean thought she saw devotion in his gaze. Well--she should hope so! She rubbed his foot with hers under the table, and he squeezed her hand. Jean felt a rush of pure femininity wash over her. Ever since she and Scott had declared their love, she found flirting with him intensely exciting. She discovered that she was good at it, and that Scott appreciated it. Even more remarkable was that, in his quiet way, _he_   was good at it. Very good indeed, she had to admit with a smile.

Bernard came over to their table, a notebook in his hand. "I have been attempting, so far without success, to compose a birthday ode to Miss Grey. I confess, the subject eludes me." He looked at her, and at Scott, and he seemed to be gazing at far-off vistas. "You two have something unique going on--especially taking into account that you are, after all, hopeless squares. Young fogies." He shook his head mournfully. "I weep for that, but do not let it affect my poetic judgment. I have to try to get the primal aspects of humanity into my poem, even so. But to do so while getting a presentational immediacy--no 'poetic' diction." He walked away, mumbling about butterflies and red wheelbarrows. Scott and Jean looked solemnly at each other, and burst into laughter.

"Are we 'squares'?" Jean said, finally able to get a word out without giggling.

"I guess so," Scott said, shaking his head. He turned to Hank, who had carefully been avoiding saying a word. "You're our expert, Mr McCoy--in this, and really, in everything. _Are_   we squares? And can Bernard immortalize Jean in verse, even so?"

Hank thought about this carefully a second, and finally nodded. "The answers are yes, and yes," he ventured to say. "Both of you are totally hopeless. You believe in love, fidelity, honor, duty, loyalty. Indeed, you _radiate_   these things. You embody them." Hank gazed over at Bernard. "And I should say that Bernard can get that. He won't realize that that's what he's doing, but he'll reach the destination even so."

Jean raised an eyebrow at Scott. "Have we been complimented?"

"Blessed if _I_ know."

"You have," Warren said. He raised a glass, and Bobby and Hank joined him. "To Scott and Jean. Who represent the best in us. With all our love."

The others drank, and then cheered the young couple. Bobby tossed some ice in their direction, which brought a quizzical look from Jean.

"Well, instead of throwing rice, I thought I'd make my own contribution," he said, as if his words made sense. Jean smiled enigmatically and shook her head.

"Boys-- _that's_   far away. Too far to even consider."

"Is it, Scottie?" Hank asked, to which Scott merely smiled even more enigmatically than Jean.

After the party broke up--but not before Bernard had read his effort, which, to her astonishment, she quite liked--Scott and Jean spent a couple of hours walking through the city, as they had the night of Scott's party. But that had been their first night of love, and special in a way that nothing else could ever quite be again. This evening they merely kissed, and talked, and flirted quite outrageously, and were home by midnight. Finding Maria unchanged, and the Professor still watching over her, they turned in.

* * *

Scott lay in bed, feeling tense. He knew that Jean would join him. And he wondered if tonight would be the night. If she officially considered herself an adult. And he worried--if so, how would it go? Would he be able to make her happy? After all, _he_   had never done this before either...

The door opened slightly, and she slipped in next to him, wearing the ubiquitous negligee. She telekinetically shut the door, and immediately embraced him, the pressure of her arms around his bare chest overwhelming as always. Their kiss lasted a long time, and she broke it off with a giggle.

"Scott--" she said with an ecstatic note to her voice. His pulse threatened to get out of control.

"Yes, Jean?" he said quietly.

"I thought--in honor of my birthday--we'd do something quite different."

"Yes, Jean," he said, almost like a robot. He had never felt so tense, or excited, in his life.

"I thought we might have a threesome in your bed tonight."

Scott thought for a second that he'd be sick, then realized she was putting him on. OK, he'd play along. "A threesome, Jean?"

"Umm hmm," she replied.

He coughed. "OK, Jean--who? Warren? Or Hank? Or Bobby?"

"Oh, none of _them,_ darling," she said, and her voice was a song, just rising to heaven, and he could barely endure hearing it, despite her mischievousness, because it was just too beautiful to endure. "I thought we might invite Goodyear."

"Goodyear?" Scott asked, puzzled.

"Yes, darling." And in front of his face, Scott saw a packet of rubbers floating through the air. "Meet Goodyear. I want to get to know him _much_   better. Starting right now."

Scott took her hand under his blanket. "Jean--is this what you really want?"

"Yes, my love. Tonight."

Scott stroked her hair, her shoulder, her back. "Oh, Jean--I love you so much."

"And I you, Scott." Their kiss took off from the highest peaks they had ever experienced previously, and ascended from there. Soon, they had left the Solar System entirely and were deep into the heavens.

* * *

_So. It's happened._

Charles saw at a glance that Scott and Jean had taken the final step the night before. They were tired, but full of energy. Jean was radiant. Scott looked like every male in history who had been in his position, and kept glancing at Jean as if she might vanish in front of his eyes. Charles smiled to himself. _That,_ my boy, was the last thing on earth she would do. He found that he was happy for them. He knew them well enough to trust their sense of responsibility. She had waited until she was eighteen, and that was really all he had hoped for. And he felt--quite literally--that no power on earth could keep them apart.

Maria was conscious, and in her room now. Physically she was stronger, but still delicate mentally. But my God--she _was_ tough. Now that she had decided to confide in her fellow X-Men--and in him--she seemed anxious to get it done. Charles insisted she wait another day or two before doing so. When he probed her mind, he still sensed signs saying, "here be dragons".

"Professor?" she asked, in normal speech. He looked at her lying in bed, and smiled.

"Yes, Maria?"

"Can I see Jean--alone?"

"Certainly. She'd be glad to see you."

* * *

Jean walked into Maria's room, still not sure if her feet were touching the ground. Or much caring. The whole world was reflected through a prism of joy, and she didn't have the slightest inclination to hide the fact. She looked at Maria on the bed, and Maria looked at her, and they fell into each other's arms.

"Oh, Maria--you're OK, you're OK--we were so worried--"

"I know, Jeannie--you too--you're OK?"

"Oh, I'm fine--how are _you?_ "

"I'm great, just great--" This went on for, possibly, longer than it should have. The two girls got it all out of their system, and Maria looked carefully at Jean.

"Well, well. I wondered if I'd know, just by looking at you. Happy Birthday, Red."

Jean blushed redder than her hair, but it was a happy blush. "Why Maria Gianelli, I don't know _what_ on earth you're talking about--"

"Jean, didn't you tell me that you were the world's worst liar?"

Jean looked at Maria, and Maria looked at her, and they collapsed into each other's arms, making cooing, ecstatic sounds.

"I'm so happy for you, Red."

"Thank you, Maria. Oh, thank you! I'm _so_ happy--"

Maria looked Jean right in the eyes. "So you're happy, huh? I mean, _really_   happy?"

Jean smiled wickedly--and to Maria's amazement, there really _was_ a slightly wicked gleam in her eyes. "Maria--I'm _ecstatic._ " The two girls laughed again, and Maria stroked Jean's face with her rough hand.

"Red--I'm going to tell all. Come completely clean."

"Oh, Maria--no!"

"Oh, yes. I'm tired of keeping secrets." She looked very serious indeed right then. "It's as I told the Professor--you guys are my family. And it isn't fair to them for me _not_   to tell. Especially Hank." Maria sighed. "He's probably feeling good and noble right now. Thinking to himself that he doesn't give a damn how I look, that he doesn't care that I can't be Anna, he loves me anyway. Some such rubbish like that, right?"

Jean nodded, face still ecstatic. _Poor kid,_ Maria thought. _She'll be looking like_ _that_ _for a long time. Huh. I wonder if she'll_ _always_ _look like that. She would._ All Maria said was, "well, it's not fair to him to have any illusions. I'm going to disabuse him. That's just fair, isn't it? Not make him waste any more of his time?"

And Jean did look unhappy then, just for a moment. "I suppose so."

"Then I can count on your support?" Maria asked almost wistfully.

"Oh, Maria! You have to ask?" And they hugged one more time.

* * *

The Midtown Club was noted for its luxury, exclusiveness, and discretion. Judge Robert Chalmers, an old member, was awaiting his guest with some impatience. He wanted to get this over with. If he knew Bolivar, it would be a waste of time. But he felt it his duty to try.

He nodded to Jameson and Osborn, passing him on the way to the Member's Lounge. He thought that Jameson was going to stop and speak to him, but apparently thought better of it because he moved on with Osborn--somewhat to Chalmers' relief. He didn't want Jonah seeing him with Bolivar Trask. Too many questions would be raised, none of which Chalmers had an answer for yet. No, he was alone in the Guest Reception Area, and glad of it.

Then Trask arrived. "Bolivar!" he said heartily, and the other man shook his hand warmly. He and Bolivar Trask were old friends, and had shared much together--including secrets.

"Robert," Trask said, voice a bit husky. Chalmers realized that the other man was on the verge of physical exhaustion. Well, if what Chalmers had heard was true, that was no surprise.

"Let's have a seat, Bolivar," Chalmers said, and led the other man to a chair by the window. He ordered drinks, and soon they were alone, facing the other.

"It was good of you to come, " Chalmers said, and Trask shook his head.

"For _you,_ Robert?" he said. "Of course."

Chalmers smiled. "I doubt that anyone else would have been able to get you away from your work, Bolivar."

Trask nodded. "No, Robert. I _have_ been--busy."

"I know," Chalmers said. "Bolivar--I hear things. About you. What you're doing." He paused, and decided to just go for the jugular. "Don't you think this is all a bit too much of a price to pay for Larry's sake?"

Trask turned a deep red. "Keep Larry out of this, Robert."

"How can I, Bolivar? I mean, isn't _he_   why you're doing all this?"

Trask made a pattern on the table with his finger. "--No. No, Robert, it is not. I am an honest man, you would agree?"

"Yes, Bolivar. Yes, you're honest--about everything, perhaps, but Larry." A pause. "And Joyce."

Trask's face went blank--as it always did, Chalmers knew, whenever he thought about his late wife. The pain was too great. "Joyce-- Robert, I deliberately did _not_   have an autopsy performed after her death."

"I know, Bolivar."

"And do you know why I did not, Robert?"

"Certainly, Bolivar. Because you didn't want to know if _she_ was a mutant, as well as Larry."

"Yes." Trask looked his old friend right in the face. "That's exactly why, Robert. I did not want to know. I _do_ not want to know. One mutant in the family is enough. If I knew that there had been two--it would be too much. I could not survive that knowledge."

Chalmers looked at Trask with deep sympathy. He remembered the breakdowns, the unbearable grief, that Joyce's death had occasioned in Bolivar. And he remembered so much else, as well.

"Bolivar--"

"Yes, Robert?"

"How can you do this-- _knowing_   that it will lead to your death?"

Trask was silent for a few moments. Then: "My death--or life--is immaterial, Robert. What comes, comes. It's my work that matters."

Chalmers suddenly couldn't take the fencing anymore, the waltzing around the subject. "Bolivar! You've known now for _years_   how you were going to die. Buried underneath a mountain, these unholy machines of yours surrounding you. And other explosions as well--possibly nuclear ones. Possibly total destruction. And you've known that _you_ were responsible." He stopped, took a breath, a sip of his drink. "You _know_ this, Bolivar. Larry has--shown--all this to you. How can you continue with these damnable 'Sentinels'?"

Trask was quiet for some time. "Precisely _because_ I know it, Robert," he finally said. "Of course. Larry _has_ shown it to me. How can I _not_   continue--if it _will_   happen?"

Chalmers shook his head. "No. No, Bolivar, not this discussion again. I do _not_ believe in inevitability. We have free will. You _can_   change your course. This nightmare does not have to be."

Trask shrugged. "Then I do it because I hate mutants, if that makes you feel better, Robert. Because Larry destroyed Joyce. Because they are a threat to the world. Surely that's reason enough?"

"It is not!"

Trask smiled--a smile of such defeat that Chalmers wondered whether his friend had finally cracked under the pressure. "Robert--Larry has shown me a future. As you say--myself, buried under a mountain with my Sentinels. Even possible nuclear holocaust. That would seem to indicate that somehow, the mutants will defeat the Sentinels, even possibly trigger World War Three. But don't you see-- _that_   just makes trying to eradicate them all the more important!"

Chalmers spoke, and there was all the tenderness in the world in his voice. "No, Bolivar. I see it as an indication that you're fighting fate. That you're in a battle you _cannot_   win. In the name of God, I beg of you--cease!"

Trask shook his head wearily. "Ah, Robert, Robert--you believe in God, don't you? I had almost forgotten." He looked out the window at the bustling city. "I lost my faith, Robert. Buried it with Joyce. It is only men and their actions that exist. And my actions are clear."

Chalmers shut his eyes, and felt an overwhelming grief. "Then God help you, Bolivar. God help you. And the boy."

"You'll look after him, if things--don't go well?"

"Of course. You need to ask?"

Trask shook his head, and rose. "No, Robert. Not at all." He shook hands with Robert. "Goodbye, Robert. I do not think we shall meet again."

"No," Chalmers said, almost as if he were passing judgment in his courtroom. "No, Bolivar, I do not feel that we shall."

"Goodbye, my friend."

"Goodbye, my friend," Chalmers answered, and was alone once more. He put his head in his hands, and prayed for the soul of Bolivar Trask.

* * *

"Thanks for coming, guys," Maria said to her fellow students gathered around her bed. The Professor was by the doorway in his wheelchair. She felt at peace, exhausted, and very happy. The Professor had told her that she was suffering from mental shock, and that was still affecting her to some degree. She found movement sluggish, and generally felt nauseous. She was suffering from headaches, too, but then, so was Jean--an after-effect of the Thinker's machine. But her mind was clear, her heart was light, and she was determined to go through with this.

"We're delighted to see you as well as you are," Scott said, and the others echoed him. Maria smiled, and put out her hand, and they all took it and squeezed it.

"First off," she said. "I'm sorry I had that crack-up. It was in a battle situation, too. I let you all down."

There was a chorus of dissent, and Scott said: "Maria--don't even _think_ about that. We know what you were going through."

"Yeah," she said sourly. "My worst nightmare, coming true in front of all of you." Nods of agreement. "Oh, yeah," she said, sourer than ever. "And _that_   excuses my panicking in the face of an enemy."

The Professor intervened. "Maria--I do not feel that there is _any_ blame assigned to you in this matter. It is the Thinker who is the prime agent of this, and it is _he_ who shall be facing our wrath."

Maria laughed. "Oh, yeah--I'm good with _that,_ believe me." She looked closely at her friends. "But guys--you know my secret now. I should, I guess, have told you right off. But the thought of pity made me almost mad with fear. _Please_   don't pity me. 'Shift' is who I am. I'm happy with her. 'Anna--' " She shook her head, looked at Hank. "She's just a dream. A nice one, but a dream, all the same."

Hank came over to her, and took her hand and stroked it. "Maria--you know how I feel about you," he said in a tone that made the others look at their feet, it was so totally naked and unselfconscious.

Maria smiled at him, and looked at Jean. "What did I tell you, Red? Noble."

"Disgustingly so," Jean said enthusiastically.

"Uh huh." Maria kissed Hank's hand, and let it go. "But Hank--this isn't all. There's more."

" 'More'," Hank said uncertainly. He turned to Jean. "You know what this 'more' is, don't you, Jeannie?"

She nodded unhappily. "I'm afraid I do," she answered.

"OK, Maria," Hank said. "What is your great secret?"

Maria shut her eyes for a second. A vision of her--tall, beautiful, "Anna", walking hand-in-hand with Hank through New York as Scott and Jean did. The two of them together, as she knew Scott and Jean were at night--her arms around Hank, her nails digging into his back, their becoming one... She opened her eyes, and reality returned. Whatever happened, _that_   daydream wouldn't haunt her thoughts anymore. Time to get serious, kiddo.

"Hank," she said. "Scott, Bobby, Warren, Professor--it isn't only that those few minutes a week are when I can look 'human', look beautiful. It's more than that. Those few minutes are also the only time I am a woman. At all."

They looked slightly confused, except for the Professor, who sighed. Maria realized that _he,_ at least, had already guessed.

"What do you mean, Maria?" Bobby asked. "That you're only a woman then? Aren't you a woman all the time? Aren't you of the female gender?"

"No," Maria said simply. "Not really."

Hank looked as if he had been kicked in the groin--which, Maria guessed, he had been. "Oh my God."

"No," Scott said. "Oh, Maria--no!"

"Jesus," Warren muttered almost under his breath. "Babe--you _can't_   have gotten a break like that. It's just not possible."

Bobby still looked confused. "Why am _I_ the dumb one all of a sudden?" he asked.

"Well, if you have to _ask_ that question, Drake--" Maria said, but broke down before she could finish the sentence. Jean was instantly by her side, taking her in her arms and kissing her cheek and stroking her hair. Bobby slowly did a double-take.

"Oh, hell, no," he said softly. "Oh, God."

Maria looked at Professor Xavier. "You guessed, didn't you, sir?"

"I did," the Professor answered. "And I prayed that somehow, I was wrong." He shook his head. "Maria--I don't know what to say. You have no female biological functions at all?"

"No, sir," she said. "A small hole to pee out of. That's it. Nothing resembling pubic hair. No menstruation. No sexual feelings of any kind. No nipples. Just these lumps on my chest. Maybe Ben Grimm can understand. Even the Hulk does better, if those silly-ass purple pants are any indication--" She broke down again, but this time mastered herself before anyone could come over to her.

"No, Jean. _No._ I said I was going to do this, and I am." She looked around at the others. "So, boys, that's the story. I'm a neuter." She looked at Hank. "I tried not to make things tough on you, Hank. I tried really hard. But you--well, you made it tough yourself. You were so terrific-- I _do_ love you. If I could be in love with you, I would be. I know that isn't much, but it's all I can offer you."

Hank had been as a man in a trance ever since Maria had given them her news. He walked over to her bed mechanically, bent over her and kissed her. "Thank you, Maria," he said. "I shall never have a greater tribute paid to me in my life." And he walked out of the room, still in the trance. Bobby walked over and kissed her on the cheek, and left as well. Then Warren kissed her on the lips, hard, and tucked her chin.

"You keep that up, babe," he said. "And remember--if you ever need _anything,_ I'm here for you. That offer is good for the next fifty years." And he left the room.

Scott and Jean stood together hand-in-hand in front of Maria. She looked up at them. "You guys be happy," she said. "That's an _order._ If you want to know what you can do for me, that's it. Knowing _that_ will help me more than anything else."

Scott looked at Jean, and they smiled the smile of complicit lovers. "I think that can be arranged," he said, and kissed Maria on the cheek. He left with Jean, still hand-in-hand.

"And off they go," Maria said in mock disgust. "Off to do God-knows-what under your roof, Professor. There should be water buckets at every corner, just to throw over _them._ "

The Professor laughed. "I'll consider it, Maria, if things get out of hand." He wheeled over to the bed. "But really, Maria--you don't regret doing this?"

She looked up at this man whom she had grown to love, and kissed his hand. "No, sir. Not in the least." She paused. Should she do what she had been considering? What the hell. Why not. "Professor--I'll be coming down for dinner tonight, I think. I want to get back in the swim of things as much as I can."

"Fine, Maria," the Professor said. "But I'm not going to consider permitting you to train--much less see action--for at least another week."

"That's OK, by me, sir. But tonight, after dinner, I'd like to speak to everyone in the living room. There's something on my mind, something _else_   that is, though I know I've caused enough alarums and excursions for one day."

The Professor put his hand up. "Now, let's have none of _that,_ young lady. If you want to make a speech, you just go ahead and make a speech." He smiled. "Is there anything you want to try out on me first?"

Maria hesitated, then spoke for a few minutes. When she was done, Professor Xavier looked at her with astonishment. "You are serious about this?" he asked.

"Absolutely, sir."

The Professor looked at her, Maria thought, as if he were really considering her for the first time. "Well, I never plumb the depths of my students," he said after awhile. "You all constantly surprise me." He frowned. "There is of course a personal stake for you in this--"

"Of course there is, sir," Maria said. "Of _course._ Why on Earth shouldn't there be? But I think it's the right thing to do anyway."

The Professor looked very serious indeed. "I wonder if the others will agree."


	28. A Motion is Brought to the Floor

Chapter Twenty-Eight

* * *

Charles ate heartily that night. Perhaps he sensed that he would need his strength for the meeting Maria had called. He was amazed at the girl's sheer audacity. But there was a pride there, too, since she was so directly opposing him. And she had a case. As she had articulated it to him, that case became uncomfortably formidable to his ears. _By God--could she be right?_

After dinner, the team assembled in the living room. Charles sat in his chair near the fireplace, which was roaring that evening. Maria sat on the sofa, legs curled up on a hassock. Hank sat next to her. Bobby and Warren sat across from them in large leather chairs, and Scott and Jean were hand-in-hand on a smaller sofa near the fire, across from Charles. He nodded to Maria when they were all assembled.

"The floor is yours, my dear."

"Thanks, Professor." She looked around at the others. "Guys--I have a motion to bring to the floor. Should we ditch our so-called 'secret identities'?"

There was a dead silence. Finally, Bobby said: "Gee, Maria, you're full of surprises today."

Hank had a thoughtful look on his face. "Ah. I wondered if anyone else ever thought about this."

Warren smiled. "Oh, what a nice dream. Too bad we have to wake up."

Scott scowled. "I don't see any practical benefit from it, to be honest. No offense, Maria."

Jean frowned. "I wonder, Scott. _I've_   thought about this, too." She turned to Maria. "I gather you've got some arguments, Maria. Let's hear them. Let's know what's on your mind, what's on everybody's mind. We can't take this issue lightly."

"Hell, no," Maria said. "And I don't. Let me start by stating the obvious. _I,_ personally, would benefit from this. I could go out with you guys in public. I wouldn't be the Mutant-Madwoman-in-the-Attic anymore. I'd be free." She looked intently at all of them. "That's _not_ why I'm advocating this. Of course I'd like it. But I think the logic of it is irresistible."

"Very well, Maria," Charles said. "All of you--she tried out some of these ideas on me before dinner. I have been doing my best to refute them, and I tell you plainly, _some_   of what she says is so strongly put that I am hard-pressed to accomplish this. Maybe you can do better." He turned to Maria again. "Go on, my dear."

"OK. Do you remember what the Thinker said, before he pushed the button on that damned gun?" She looked at her teammates, and they nodded.

"Sure," Warren replied. "It was pretty hard to forget."

"Of course," Maria said. "He called us by our _names._ Remember, Scott? 'Scott, Scott, Scott'--he was practically mocking you with it. He called Jean by _her_ name. He called me by _my_   name. He called the Professor 'Charles'." She hesitated. "Guys--the Thinker _knows who we are._ "

Hank nodded. "Indeed, my fair colleague. I noticed that right away. Somehow, he was able to find out."

"Somehow, indeed," Maria said. "And if _he_ could find out, others can, too. Others already have. Magneto knows. The Brotherhood knows. Guys--do you all feel that the Thinker, and Magneto, are going to keep our identities a secret forever out of the goodness of their hearts?"

She could see the logic of this sinking in. Scott still looked dissatisfied. "Maybe this is true," he said. "But does that mean _we_   have to pull the plug on _ourselves?_ "

"Do we have an alternative?" Jean asked. "In the long run, that is...and really, in the not-so-long run." She took Scott's hand, and Charles was amused to see a look of faint disgust come over Maria's face. Was she thinking of water buckets? "It's not only Magneto and the Thinker. The Blob knows, too. Professor--you stripped his memory after our first battle, but that memory returned to him. He retains it even now. He has returned to the circus, but who knows what the future will bring?"

Bobby was looking thoughtful as well. "You knocked out a big chunk of the memory of my entire home town, Prof," he said, looking at Charles. "Who knows how long _that's_ going to last?"

Charles shut his eyes. Indeed, doing that--and keeping it done--was a considerable strain on him. It had been "necessary". And he hated it with all his soul. He was beginning to feel almost light-headed. What had been "necessary" for so long... He was astonished to hear Maria's idea being as warmly received as it was. He was astonished to find _himself_ wondering about their so-called "secrecy". _Did_ he think that Eric, say, was going to keep their secret forever out of the goodness of his heart--?

"Professor, everybody," Maria said, "it isn't only our enemies. Remember--people at the FBI know. And if there's one thing that you can say with absolute certainty in this world, it's that a government bureaucracy-- _any_   government bureaucracy--is going to leak sooner or later. I'm amazed it hasn't happened yet. Every morning I cringe when I open the paper, because I'm afraid I'm going to see the Mansion plastered all over the front page."

Scott smiled tightly. "Your brother knows, too, Maria. And _he_ works for Jameson."

She nodded brightly. "Indeed he does. I trust Frank--but, well, who knows what Jameson is capable of? Frank has hinted that Jameson's been known to send spies trailing his employees, if Jonah feels they haven't been totally honest with him." She turned to the Professor. "And of course, there's Dr Asimov, and Dr Richards, and Dr Pym, and Dr King, and Dr Oppenheimer, and Dr Schweitzer--"

Charles nodded wearily. "Yes, Maria, you've made your point." Indeed she had. Charles realized that he had let things slide for far too long, whatever the outcome of this debate.

"X-Men," Maria said, looking at all of them in turn, "we're living under a sword of Damocles. We could be exposed at any moment. I propose that we take the initiative, and go public. The sooner, the better."

Warren looked uncomfortable. "You make some really good points, Maria," he said. "But let's take a look at the practical side of things. Our families would be exposed, too. _They_   couldn't live normal lives again."

Jean looked somber. "You're right, Warren. On the other hand--how 'normal', really, are their lives now? If _we're_ living under a sword of Damocles, so are they. They might pick up a paper some morning, too. Or get a phone call that one of us is dead. Or be kidnapped by an enemy with no warning. And our enemies _know_   who they are. If they know who _we_   are, they know who _they_   are."

"In short," Hank said grimly, "our families are at this moment living in a fool's paradise."

"And there's more," Maria went on. "Professor, all of you--on the day I joined the X-Men, Magneto taunted me with your secret identities. He said that _they_ \--the Brotherhood--at least didn't go around in masks and hide who they were, that _I_ wouldn't have to do this as a member of the Brotherhood. Guys--more mutants are coming along all the time. How many of _them_   are going to want to go around wearing masks over their faces? Our doing that is as much as telling the world that we're ashamed of who, what we are. Is _that_ the message we want to send young mutants whom we want to join us? If so, it's a propaganda victory for Magneto, and we're giving it to him on a silver platter."

Charles could see that this argument was having a very profound effect on the X-Men. Indeed, he did not know what he could say to refute it. He did not know if he _wanted_ to refute it. But before it was over, he would have to say some home truths about this path Maria was proposing. That, at least, was his simple duty. But he also knew that this debate couldn't be simply cut off by him by fiat. Slowly but surely, he realized as the discussion went along that this would have to be _their_   decision. The time had come when they were teaching him, and he felt a rush of pride at who, what, these young people were becoming. _Had_ become.

"So do we want to live our lives in the open?" Scott asked. "Be so-called 'celebrities', have reporters and rubber-neckers gawking outside the Mansion, our lives paraded in the papers?"

"The Fantastic Four have survived," Hank said, voice very quiet. "So do famous people in every walk of life."

"And Maria is right," Jean said. "What _about_   other mutants? If we keep hiding, it _will_ look as if we have something to hide. I do not feel that being a mutant is a matter of shame."

Warren stood up and walked to the fire, wings creating a slight draft in the room as they flapped very slowly. "My parents are very rich and very socially prominent. If I went public, they would be horrified." He turned towards the others. "But if--as Jean suggested--they were to open a paper and read about my death in battle...that would horrify them much more. As for exposing them to danger--"

Hank frowned. "The same is true of the family of every politician. And soldier. And policeman. If people _knew_   we were determined to protect those whom we loved--would it be any worse than the situation now, when our enemies can strike against them at any time, without their knowledge?"

"The Israelis have a policy of no tolerance for any attacks against their people," Jean said, very seriously indeed. "We can do the same. I do not like the idea of having to tell my parents and my sister Sara about me. But the more I think about it, I like the idea of _not_ telling them even less." She paused. "Professor--do they know? After Annie Richardson-- _do_ they know?"

Charles shook his head. "They suspect, at an unconscious level. Especially your father. They noticed things when I was helping you. They could hardly have avoided it. But they have created a reality-tunnel in which everything can be explained by ordinary psychiatric explanations. This will hit them hard." Jean nodded unhappily.

Hank looked carefully at Maria. "Maria--is there any element here of psychological overcompensation on your part? Now that you've decided to come clean with us about your own true mutant state, you're wanting to go whole hog and tell the world everything?"

Maria looked right in Hank's eyes. "I don't know, Hank. Maybe. But it _doesn't  matter._ Even if that _were_ true, I think it's a good idea all the same."

Charles sighed. He could feel the weight of opinion moving inexorably, and he was overwhelmed. He had made a mistake about this matter. Or if it had not been one originally, it had become one by weight of custom and blinkered thinking. He turned to Bobby.

"Robert--you have not have much to say. What are your thoughts?"

Bobby looked at the Professor and smiled. "Prof--I'm awfully tired of lies."

Charles didn't answer, merely nodded. "Scott?" he asked the team leader. "How about you?"

Scott didn't answer, just looked at Jean and saw what she was telling him with her eyes, her hand, her entire posture. Finally, he shook his head.

"I think you're all nuts," he said. "But if you are, then I guess I am, too, because I think I agree with Maria. God help me."

Jean laughed, and took Scott in her arms and kissed him. Maria's look of disgust just increased, and this time Charles _did_   laugh out loud. He felt a weight taken off his soul that he hadn't even known was there. Warren shrugged, and kissed Maria.

"Babe--you've just made me the biggest sex symbol in the land. I hope you can live with the consequences."

Maria leered at him. "Bigger than Reed Richards?" Warren gave her a mock swat.

Bobby looked at Charles. "Sir--? What do _you_ think?"

Charles shook his head. "This was _your_   decision, Robert, not mine. You are young and full of enthusiasm, and I am glad of that. But there will be more difficulties that you can now imagine. I would be amiss in my duties if I did not at least offer some words of caution. It's quite likely that dangers--to us, and our families-- _will_   increase, in ways we can foresee, and in ways we cannot. And in some ways, your lives will never truly belong to you again. This shall require a great deal of adjustment on all of your parts. You must all understand the magnitude of the decision you have made today."

Hank stood up. "Oh, I think we realize _that,_ sir. Indeedy we do." He turned to Maria. "Oh, my stars and garters. You've been full of surprises today, Miss Gianelli."

"Am I to infer from that, Mr McCoy, that I'm _not_ full of surprises the rest of the time?"

"Perhaps not like this."

There was some talk about the path they had to take, and the timing of what they were doing. Since Christmas was coming, it was decided that those with families would tell them the truth over the holidays, and about the decision they had reached. And, also, to see if any of their families objected to what they had planned. Charles was then going to invite all of them to the Mansion, and see what the collective wisdom of the X-Men, and their families, was. Then--in the new year--they would act.

Before going to bed, Charles spoke briefly with Maria. "My dear--I am very proud of you."

Silence. Then: "Thank you, sir."

"Will this be a difficult matter for your brother to deal with?"

"Probably, Professor. He _is_ a journalist, after all, keeping a secret from his employer." She laughed. "A secret about _me._ From J Jonah Jameson! Frank will have to get a new job, I'm afraid. Well, I know what his reaction will be--'easy come, easy go'."

"I hope so, Maria," the Professor said. "Good night."

"Good night, sir."

"How are you feeling?"

"Beat. Like I'm walking on psychic eggshells. My head is exploding. Very happy."

"Very good. Again--good night."

"Night, sir."

* * *

The door was locked. Scott warned Hank, Bobby, and Jean to stay back, and opened his visor just a fraction of an inch. There was a hissing sound, and the bright red of an explosion, as the door was vaporized. "Iceman!" he called. "Take the point. Beast, you follow. Marvel Girl, after him. I'll finish up."

Scott saw Bobby enter the Thinker's Midtown lair, ice shield in front as he moved cautiously ahead. "Don't see anything, Scott--" At that moment, there was a hissing, much like the sound of Scott's optic beam, and a laser cut right in front of Bobby's path. For a terrible instant Scott thought Iceman had been hit, but Bobby was slammed to the ground flat, just in time for the laser beam to miss him. Had he still been standing where he was, it would have cut him in two.

"Good save, Jean!" Scott called, seeing her utilize her telekinesis to pull Bobby out of the path of the laser. She nodded, and probed the large room they had entered.

"I'm not sensing anything else, Scott--" she said, when a door panel slid open and the Thinker walked out in front of them. He put up a hand, and smiled genially.

"Hello, my friends," he said. "Needless to say, I'm not the _real_ Thinker. I'm just a robot--and yes, I readily confess that I've used a robot in this case. Why waste perfectly good genetic material on an android whose sole purpose is to distract and mislead you?"

Hearing that hated voice was too much for Scott. He didn't want to hear any more. Anything this thing could say was meant to distract them in any case. It admitted it. The more it talked, the more distracting it would get. "Stand back!" he cried, and let loose a full optic blast at the robot. It fell to the floor, smashed to pieces. Scott walked over it and into the complex. He looked around--nothing. "Beast, Marvel Girl--check the other rooms. Iceman, see if Angel is occupied with anything out there." He opened some closets in the main room, and saw nothing. The others reported that there was no sign of the Thinker, his android, or anything else. Scott sighed, and signalled to Warren, who entered by a window.

"Anything pass your way?" he asked. Warren shrugged.

"Not unless you count the pigeons."

Scott made a disgusted gesture. "Well, the FF did their part by giving us this location for his old lab," he said with a sigh. "I guess he's flown the coop."

"Oh, I wouldn't say that," a voice said, and they recognized it as the Thinker's. "You've cost me some money and time in the wanton destruction of my robot, but after all, there's more where _he_   came from. And I hate to sacrifice that lab, because of its sentimental value. Naturally, I abandoned it many months ago. But I _did_ set a booby-trap--"

"Everyone out!" Scott cried. "Out the window! Now!" Warren flew out of the room like a blur, and Iceman was on his heels with an ice slide. The Beast jumped out of the room immediately after them, and Jean turned to Scott. "I'm not going without you!"

"Jean, _move!_ I'll be all right. _Now!_ " Marvel Girl flew out of the window on her telekinetic power, and Scott threw himself out the window, trusting to Warren to catch him--which of course he did. And the moment he was clear, there was a massive explosion in the complex they had just left, with smoke and fire pouring out the window they had leapt through. Jean had levitated herself to the roof of a building across a small alleyway, and Hank soon joined her there. Bobby's ice slide made it three, and Warren set down Scott next to the others.

"Well, _that_   was a fiasco," Warren said cheerfully.

"Indubitably," Hank said. "What now, Fearless Leader?"

"God knows," Scott said. "But we'd better at least get out of the neighborhood before the cops get here."

"We don't want to wait for them?" Jean asked, and Scott shook his head.

"We do not," Scott answered. "It would mean hours of useless talk, and they'd gain nothing they won't get once they realize whose complex it was, and talk to the FF about it. Let's go." They walked down to the front of the building and circled around a couple of blocks, to the amazement of passers-by. There were a couple of autograph-seekers, some college boys who made a suggestion to Jean to which she replied by dumping some dog crap on their heads, and a wino who said that they were the Apostles of the Antichrist, and would they please get out of his sunlight before he froze to death, it being quite cold after all--

The X-Men had to agree with this. Scott was impervious to the weather, but he saw Jean shiver slightly, and Hank was rubbing his feet. "Do we walk all the way back to the limo?" Warren asked, still cheerful, and Scott shrugged.

"Unless you have a better idea."

"Oh, no. Just wondering."

Some children came up to them. One of them asked shyly: "Where is Shift? Is she OK?"

"She's fine," Jean answered with a smile. "Just taking a bit of a vacation."

"Oh, good," the child said. "She's our favorite. No offense, the rest of you guys."

"Oh, none taken," Jean said as the children walked off.

"The glamorous life of a super-hero," Bobby said cheerfully. "I wonder how different it's going to be when..." He didn't finish his sentence, and the others didn't answer, though they were all wondering the same thing.

* * *

Somewhere, in a dimly-lit room, a certain figure lay back in a chair and thought hard, eyes shut. _So they're really going to do it. I thought so, of course, but one is never sure until it happens. If there's anything I've learned, it's_ _that_ _. That means events will probably go as I expected. At least, until Trask unleashes his Sentinels. Before then, there is the bizarre interlude in Antarctica. There is the Stranger. There is Marko. They should go as expected--though I worry about the Stranger._ _He_ _is a wild card. Totally beyond anyone's ability to predict. But still--either he takes Magneto and the wretched Toynbee with him, or he does not. The probabilities seem geared towards his doing so, but I must be very cautious regarding this one. There is one possibility that could change everything. The girl Maria--and the Stranger. It will almost certainly happen someday. Could it happen_ _then_ _? In his presence? If so--_

The figure sighed. _And if Trask does as expected-- No, this is no good. There are simply too many variables. Magneto._ _He_ _makes so much difference. If he is here for the Sentinels, the probability goes one way. If not, then it goes just as strongly another way. A better way, I think. No, it would be better, all things considered, if he_ _does_ _go with the Stranger._

The figure went and put some logs on the fire. _Odd, how I appreciate simple things in this place. Fireplace logs. Reading books. Seeing the snow fall. I spend so much time doing complex things, I suppose the simple ones are a blessing._

The figure warmed its hands, feeling the blessed heat go right through its pores into its marrow, its soul. _The Sentinels. They--and Trask--are acting somewhat differently,_ _here_ _, than I was expecting. Than they have elsewhere. It_ _could_ _be the end of everything. And yet--is that possible? Really? I am assuming too much, perhaps. About Jean. That it is_ _inevitable_ _that she becomes Phoenix. Would she do so, just to give an elegy to a blasted world? Maybe. It is years earlier than I was expecting--but if the world ends, would that really change matters? God knows. I do not. I am not God, though sometimes I have pretended otherwise._

There was much to digest this evening. The X-Men, going public! _Charles essentially abdicated. Let_ _them_ _make the decision. They are young, brave, true heroes. Do they know what they are letting themselves in for? Perhaps not. But they are ready for anything. My head says one thing, my heart another. Then let the heart rule. If there's anything I have learned, it's that that is the best policy regarding them. They have confounded established wisdom so many times. Let them do so again._

* * *

"I'm so sorry I missed your birthday, Jean," Isaac Asimov said cheerfully, taking another piece of the cheesecake Carla was supplying him with. "Eighteen! Imagine that! To be so young. Was _I_ ever so young?"

Maria smiled. "You sold your first story when you were exactly eighteen, Isaac," she said. "So, yes, I guess you were."

Asimov beamed at her. "My biggest fan! So deft with my biographical details! You probably know more about my life than _I_ do!"

There was a laugh from the students. "Isaac," Jean said with a smile, "you have the world's best memory. You have never forgotten anything that happened in your entire life."

He smiled modestly--or at least, Maria thought with a snort, he probably _thought_   it was a modest smile. "Well, I have been blessed with near total recall. Naturally, I can remember things."

"So you _were_   eighteen once," Bobby said, and Maria thought there was a please-can-the-BS tone to his voice. If so, Isaac didn't seem to notice.

"Indeed," he said, beaming. "And I must confess, I've often wondered if I were that age _now,_ if there might not even be a place for me within these walls. With my remarkable ability to absorb such great amounts of knowledge--"

A groan went up, and Maria and Bobby threw spitballs at Isaac in mid-sentence. He took this with equanimity.

"Jealousy, rank jealousy," he said with a smile. "What an ornament I could be to your team--the depository of all information--"

"We already have a smart fat guy," Maria said. "And you don't even hop around like a monkey."

Hank responded to this slur by tossing his own spitball at her, and she grabbed it and tossed it back, and suddenly she remembered she was trying to act grown-up and cool in front of an adult authority figure. Unfortunately, Isaac seemed to be egging them on.

"Just what super-hero name would we call you?" Warren asked. "Jello Man?"

"Captain Potato," Hank said helpfully.

"The Human Starch," Jean suggested.

"The Buffet Master," Bobby added.

"How about Dr Oysters Rockefeller?" Scott said with a slight smile.

"I have it--The Emperor of Ice Cream!" Maria cried out, and this suggestion was unanimously adopted.

"Charles, are you going to sit there and let these children _malign_ me?" Asimov said with mock petulance to the Professor. Who shrugged.

"Isaac--I disagree with what they have to say, of course. But I'll defend to the death their right to say it." Asimov broke out laughing, and took a bite of cheesecake. He was here merely on a visit, which was fine with Maria. That made her feel a bit less guilty about what she and Jean were going to do. Maria was a bit disappointed in Jean's surrender to Scott regarding the jock strap photo, though not entirely surprised by it. But Dr Asimov was fair game.

Their opportunity came later, as he was leaving. As always, he managed to get alone with Jean, and Maria was watching closely from the doorway. Isaac hugged Jean, and then--as they expected---moved to pinch her bottom. The moment his fingers touched her, he gave out a grunt, for the excellent reason that he was suddenly being suspended about ten feet above the ground.

"Isaac," Jean said very quietly, "I think we need a lesson in respect. Maria--if you please." Maria entered the room, and smiled at Isaac, who was turning green as he was being very slowly turned around in mid-air by Jean's telekinesis. "This is my colleague, the lovely Miss Gianelli. Miss Gianelli, would you please inform Dr Asimov what will happen if he doesn't quit bottom-pinching."

"With pleasure, Miss Grey." Maria turned to Isaac and spoke exactly three sentences, consisting of a mere twenty-two words. They were not spoken in a hostile tone of voice in the least. Indeed, there was a friendly, more-in-sorrow-than-in-anger quality to her words, and Jean nodded solemnly as Maria spoke them. Asimov's color went from green to purple as he heard them.

"You--you're _not_   serious," he gasped, and Maria and Jean looked at each other.

"Miss Gianelli--I do believe that Isaac thinks we're not serious."

"Oh, my, Miss Grey. I do believe you're right."

"Perhaps I should let him down, and hand him over to your tender mercies?"

"No!" Asimov cried out, beginning to sound genuinely alarmed. "Girls--please! I meant no harm by it!"

Jean let him down slowly--and again, Maria felt a bit disgusted. Poor kid--she had too tender a heart. "We know, Isaac," Jean said. "Truly, we do. But frankly, it bothers us when you do that. So--if you please...?"

Isaac looked at them, wiped his brow. "Ladies, you had but to ask."

"Which we have just done," Maria said sweetly. Asimov looked at them, and finally smiled.

"I do believe I have learned my lesson," he said. "Am I forgiven?"

Jean and Maria looked at each other and laughed. Both girls hugged Isaac simultaneously. "Please!" he cried out. "One at a time, ladies, I beg you! This is too much of a good thing!"

"Oh, it's never too much of a good thing for _you_ ," Jean said.

Asimov adjusted his glasses. "I must say, I don't like heights," he said. "Even one as small as _that._ " He turned to Maria. "Needless to say, you wouldn't _really_   have--?"

Maria smiled beatifically. "Fortunately, we'll never know." Asimov looked the least bit taken aback, as he departed the Mansion. The girls shook hands.

"Scott would certainly approve of _that_ mission," Jean said.

"Indubitably, Miss Grey," Maria said. "Is your career as an agitator over, or shall we see Marvel Girl Unleashed once more?"

Jean smiled like a cat. "One never knows, Miss Gianelli. One never knows."


	29. A King Pays a Call

Chapter Twenty-Nine

* * *

"Please come in, Martin." The Reverend Martin Luther King, Jr, entered Charles Xavier's study, and sat down in a leather chair across from his old friend's desk. Charles wheeled around behind the desk, and waved a hand.

"You want any refreshment, Martin?"

Martin raised his brows. "Well, as long as you're asking..."

Charles smiled. "Of course." He reached around to a small table next to his desk, and in a moment had something warm, reddish, and dry ready for Martin to drink. Martin took an appreciative sip, and put the drink down next to him.

"I always enjoy being with a man who knows how to fix a good martini," he said appreciatively. "Charles, you should have been a bartender."

"I _was,_ " Charles said with a smile. "In grad school, after I came home from Korea. The trustees of the family fortune paid for my education, but I earned my own money for luxuries. I was thought to be pretty good."

Martin nodded. "I'd have to agree with that... Now." He leaned towards Charles. "You were insistent that I come, and I have. What's on your mind, Charles?"

"I'm grateful for your presence, naturally," Charles said. "I know how busy you are."

Martin shrugged. "When Charles Xavier says to come, I come a runnin'. As you knew I would."

"Yes," Charles said. "I shall waste no more of your time. Martin--the X-Men have decided to abandon our secret identities."

Martin was silent for a good time, swallowing and digesting this intelligence. Finally, he said: "I'm not entirely surprised." And it was odd, because he _wasn't_ entirely surprised, although the notion had never entered his head before that Charles and his students would ever take this step.

"Oh?" Charles said. "You intrigue me, Martin. I'm interested--can you tell me _why_   you aren't surprised?"

Martin picked up his drink and took a sip. Why wasn't he surprised? Finally, he just shrugged. "It's hard to say exactly why, Charles. I think it may be because of the character of your students. It just sounds _right_ for them--as a step that's inevitable for their maturity."

Charles nodded appreciatively. "That's how I felt, when we had our discussion concerning the matter. Martin-- _they_ made the decision, not I. I did caution them, but not as strongly as I might have, and I feel somewhat amiss in that. But if you could have heard the energy in that room--the idealism-- Martin, something _happened_ in this house that night."

Martin threw his head back and laughed. "Charles, my old friend--have you ever heard of the Civil Rights Movement? 'Something' happens almost on a daily basis there. Something wonderful. I know exactly what you're talking about."

Charles looked abashed. "Yes, of course you do. But Martin, if you could have seen it--! It must have been very like some of your experiences, at that. Old mental patterns that seemed unshakeable, going down almost without a fight. At least on _my_ part. The X-Men--they weren't..." Charles broke off, not quite sure how to go on.

Martin laughed. "Not clearin' everything with Roy?" he said, making an oblique reference to the head of the NAACP, known for following the Movement instead of leading it.

"Exactly," Charles said. "Especially Maria. You haven't met her, Martin. That's another thing I wished to accomplish on this visit--have that situation rectified."

"Oh, yeah," Martin said. " 'Shift'. She looks more like she belongs on our side of the ledger, Charles, than yours."

"Maria is a 'ledger' all to herself," Charles said firmly. "But before we do that, Martin--do you approve of the decision we have taken?"

"Absolutely," Martin replied without hesitation. "Oh, I know there'll be problems. There are always problems. But they'll be the right sort of problems. And I don't think the worst of 'em will really be any worse than anything you're facing now."

"That was our consensus," Charles said. "Let me tell you what was said--" And he did so, giving Martin a quick but comprehensive account of the X-Men's discussion that evening. Martin listened, fascinated.

"Oh, my," he said when it was over. "Miracles _do_ occur in our world, Charles. There was something miraculous in this house that night, at that."

Charles smiled, nodded appreciatively. "There was. There was something in the air I've never heard before, Martin. A spirit of not accepting the old ways lying down. Yes, it _must_ be like what you and your people have known."

"And you, old friend," Martin said, smiling in memory. "I haven't forgotten _your_ presence in the South, at the right times and places."

Charles shrugged. "In a wheelchair. For all I can do."

"You can march in that thing like the grand marshal of a parade," Martin said. "You have. It's been appreciated."

Charles waved a hand. "That's not the issue, though, Martin. The issue is, you _do_ feel this is the right decision?"

"I sure do."

"Even though you see the difficulties?"

"Yes. Of course."

"Can you give me your reasons?"

Martin hesitated. "--You know Ken Rexroth, the poet?"

Charles looked surprised. "No--but it's odd your bringing him up, because my students do."

"Really?"

"Yes. Some place in the Village..."

"Ah," Martin said appreciatively. "That makes sense. Anyway, he has a term he calls the 'Social Lie'--which is everything that's dehumanizing and destructive in our society. And that just about means everything, as you know. He's said that us--the Movement--was the biggest threat to the Social Lie, 'cause it's hit it at its weakest link--segregation. Charles--by hiding up here, shutting yourselves off from the world, _you're_ contributing to the Social Lie. For mutants, secret identities and masks are as damaging to you as Jim Crow was to us. And you're doin' it to yourselves. Charles--I believe in integration. For black and white, and for mutant and non-mutant. Maybe you've been waiting for the right time to do this. Hey--there's never a 'right time'. The kids in the Movement--they've always been ahead of us, certainly ahead of _me._ _They're_ the ones who've told _us_   when the 'right time' has been. Now, your kids are tellin' _you_ that." He smiled at Charles. "It's a helluva feeling, isn't it?"

"It is," Charles said, a small smile on his face. "I should like to call in Maria, if you don't mind."

"By all means."

"Good. Would you mind playing Devil's Advocate, if only for the sake of forcing her to think this through clearly?"

Martin waved his hand. "Sure thing." He watched, as Charles frowned and shut his eyes briefly. Martin shivered inside. That still seemed _wrong_   to him--to be able to deliver your thoughts into someone else's head. The ultimate violation of privacy. He hated to think what J Edgar Hoover could do with someone like that. And then almost laughed, because Charles _did_   work for the FBI.

A moment later, Martin found himself standing up when a very tall young woman entered the room. Martin knew what to expect, but still found the reality a bit daunting. This poor child didn't look quite put together. She was wearing pedal pushers and a sweater, and while Martin generally appreciated women looking feminine in their clothing, he was glad this girl wasn't wearing a skirt.

"I'm honored, Dr King," was all she said, and he waved that off as she sat down on Charles' right. "Please, Miss Gianelli," he replied, sitting himself down. " _I'm_   the one honored to meet _you._ The whole country is talking about your--well--"

"Eccentricities," she said with a smile, and that smile left Martin heartbroken. Apart from a pair of righteous hazel eyes, this girl's face didn't really come together the way a human face should. _My God almighty. This poor child--she isn't really a woman at all, is she? I mean, apart from her appearance, which is unfortunate enough._ Martin looked sharply at her without appearing to. He knew, from his own attraction to the female sex, the signals that women sent out without even knowing they were doing it. This girl didn't do that. And it wasn't because she liked girls rather than boys. No--this girl simply didn't exist on that plane. He felt a deep sadness for her. _God--you've been dealing from the bottom of the deck with this poor child._

"Among other things," Martin said. "Charles here has been telling me about your role in getting the team to change its focus."

"Yes, sir," Maria said, and Martin could tell she was still a little intimidated by being in the same room with him. "Our secret identities--we feel that they're not helping us anymore."

Martin nodded slowly. "I can see how you'd feel about that, Maria...I can see that plainly. But are you sure you've thought out all the ramifications?"

Maria looked at Martin steadily. "I think so, sir."

Martin paused to consider his words. "...Maria--once this step is taken, there's no turning back. Here, you all can shut yourselves off from the world, be yourselves--that is, nice, normal young people--and not be subject to media scrutiny twenty-four hours a day. You can be X-Men when you want to be, and private folk when you want _that._ But once you go public, that's all over."

Maria was listening intently. "Yes, sir. We realize that."

Martin nodded. "And there's more. There's an awful lot of folk out there scared of mutants, Maria. And scared folks let their fears do their thinking for 'em. You've seen the protests against us in the South--and not only the South. You've seen the violence. Once you reveal yourselves, you're letting yourselves in for all of that."

She nodded solemnly. "Yes, sir."

"I mean, demonstrations outside the Mansion. Maybe counter-demonstrations. Press folk livin' out there in that Graymalkins Lane of yours. Headlines. Hate mail. Jonah Jameson at the _Bugle_ , devoting himself to making your lives a living hell. All of that, and more stuff I probably can't even imagine."

"Yes, Dr King," she said quietly. "I've thought of all that. Naturally."

Martin smiled. He'd bet she had, at that. "And you still think this is a good idea?"

"Oh, yes, Dr King." She turned to Charles. "It's just very simple, Professor. I think that this--our coming out--is inevitable. We either do it ourselves, or we let our enemies do it for us. This way, we have some control over the process. _We_ can determine the ground rules. And as far as our families are concerned--well, I think it's better to do it this way, when we can arrange things for ourselves, then wait and find some day that the matter has been taken out of our hands."

"You're prepared to make arrangements to protect them?" Martin said. " 'Cause Maria, that's what it'll come to."

Maria smiled slightly. "Sir--it's come to that, anyway."

Martin looked at Charles. "Checkmate, I think."

Charles looked at Maria carefully. "This _could_ make the dangers to them greater, even so. You do see that, Maria?"

"Yes, sir," she said.

"And you believe that this is the right decision, even so?"

"Yes, sir." She looked at Charles, then at Martin. "Professor--Dr King--I haven't suggested this lightly. I know what a change it will mean for us. But I think it's inevitable, and we should try to take as much control of the process as we are able to. I think that continuing our secret identities gives Magneto and the Brotherhood a propaganda victory they don't deserve." She took a deep breath. "And I just want to stop lying, concealing, as though we have something to hide. Professor," she said, looking at Charles, " _do_ we have anything to hide?"

Charles had almost stopped breathing. Finally, he said almost under his breath: "No, Maria. We do not."

Martin got up and walked over to Maria. He stooped down, and hugged her. "Maria--I have a lot of respect for you. For what it's worth, I feel you're right."

Maria looked surprised. "You do, sir? I thought--"

Martin laughed. "Child--I was just playing Devil's Advocate for a moment. But yes, I agree with you completely."

Maria laughed with him. "I'm delighted to hear that, sir! I can't tell you what an honor this has been--"

"You said that already," Martin replied. Maria shook her head.

"Oh, I know, Dr King. But I'm nervous. You impress me."

"As _I_ have long since ceased to do," Charles said, and the three of them laughed.

* * *

Dr King left soon after that, after a quick visit with the other students. Maria hoped that it had gone well. The fact that he agreed with her made her swell with pride, which of course meant that she was letting herself in for a fall. That Pride Goeth Before A Fall was just self-evident to her, and while she couldn't really say she was a good Catholic, she was enough of a believer even so to see such an obvious truth in front of her face. So, she told herself, keep the pride part down a little, OK?

Preparations were underway for the Christmas holidays. All of them were going to visit their families, except for Maria and Scott. But Frank would be visiting _here._ In fact, she expected him this very day, and was dreading it. Frank didn't need to be told the truth about them, of course. But she wasn't entirely sure what his reaction would be to their decision, despite her words to the Professor. After all, she might be putting his job in jeopardy. This would be the first test of their decision--and their resolve.

Frank arrived mid-afternoon. Maria had told the Professor that she wanted to see him alone and tell him, without him present, and the Professor had agreed. Maria took him to a small room near the back of the house, with an old-fashioned radio and a small solarium. They sat down, and talked for awhile about their lives. Maria thought that Frank was speaking of his job in veiled terms--maybe too veiled.

"Frank--is something wrong?" she finally asked him, and he shrugged.

"Maria--you wouldn't believe me if I told you."

Maria sighed. "OK, Frank--what has Jameson done now?"

Frank laughed--a bitter laugh, Maria thought. "Kid--he wanted me to dig up dirt on _you._ "

"Go on." She laughed. "You mean _you_ were chosen to investigate _me?_ "

He made a rueful shrug. "Oh, yeah," he said. "How's _that_ for an irony, kid?"

"Oh, not bad," Maria said. "But I note you say he 'wanted' you to do this thing. Am I to assume then that he no longer does?"

"You assume correctly," Frank said carefully. He suddenly looked guilty.

"Frank--what is it?"

He licked his lips. "Maria--I'm on a new beat now. But I'm sworn to secrecy. And yet--" He shook his head. "It could be dangerous for you. I came here today to tell Xavier what I know, to be honest. Let _him_   decide what the hell to do about it. I can't keep putting you and the others in danger."

"OK, Frank," Maria said. "That's between you and the Prof. But _I_ have some news, myself."

"Yeah?" Frank said, trying to sound interested. "What's that, kid?"

"Oh, nothing much. We've just decided to scrap our secret identities, that's all."

"Huh," he said, as if she had made an observation about the weather. Then-- "Huh?" he said, eyes wide open. "Maria--? What do you mean?"

"What I said, Frank," she said a bit reluctantly. "We're going public. Shortly after the New Year."

" _You're kidding!_ " Frank said, grabbing her by the arms and squeezing. "Kid--is this for real?"

"Absolutely real, Frank," Maria said, gently disengaging her arms. "We're telling our families over the holidays, to get their opinions. You're the first, actually." She smiled sadly. "Look, Frank--I _know_   this is a blow to you. It has to be. Maybe it'll cost you your job, when Jameson learns what you've done. I feel rotten about that."

He looked at her shrewdly. "Forget _that_ for now. What's all this about? Tell me from the beginning." And Maria did, from her encounter with the Thinker, the appearance of "Anna"--and Frank knew nothing of her, and was stunned by this news--and on to Maria's telling her teammates about her sexual state, and Frank's astonishment was, if anything, even greater.

"Jesus, Kid--if only I had known all this--"

"Yeah? 'If only'? And you'd have done exactly--what?"

He looked downcast. "Damned if _I_ know, Kid. But I'd have done something. God--" He gave her a sad, tender look-- "you got such a bad break--"

Maria found herself getting angry. "I'm getting good and tired of everybody telling me what a bad break I got!"

Frank grabbed her hand, squeezed it. "I can imagine, Maria. I'm sorry."

"That's OK," Maria said, and hugged her brother on an impulse. He kissed her cheek, and she went on, finishing the story with the team meeting, and the decision to abandon their secret identities. She ended up with a mention of the meeting with Dr King, only that morning. Frank listened, entranced.

Finally: "I'm proud of you, Kid. Real proud."

"You _agree_ with the decision?" Maria asked, astonished.

"Of course. Why shouldn't I?"

"But Frank--you'll lose your job! Jameson will fire you for keeping your connection to me secret!"

"So he fires me," Frank said. "There are other jobs. There's only one you. You come first."

"Oh, Frank--" She cried for awhile, and he held her in his arms.

"God bless you," she said to him. "This means so much to me."

"Hey--when people learn that I'm Shift's brother, _I'm_   gonna be a celebrity. The gals will go crazy. You're going to put my sex life through the roof. You think _that's_ not worth a lousy job or two?"

Maria laughed. "Dammit, cut it out! I don't want to be laughing today! I'm too worried about your future!"

"Maybe the Prof could use a good publicist."

"Go ask him!"

* * *

As it happened, Frank Gianelli didn't ask Charles Xavier for a job that day. But before leaving, he did seek him out.

"Charles--Maria told me what happened. Everything, from the Thinker's attack on." He paused. "There's so much I didn't know about her. I wish I had. Maybe if I had, I'd have tried harder those four long years--to find her, be there for her."

Xavier shook his head. "No, Frank. No, you have nothing to reproach yourself for. I've learned--during her breakdown--how deeply private, inviolate, that secret was to her. She would never have told you, had not events blasted the secret out of her. Her courage-- I cannot tell you how much I admire her."

"I agree there, Charles." Frank paused, and went on: "And now--you guys are going public? It seems--fantastic."

Charles laughed. "It does to me, as well. But _you're_ comfortable with the news, Frank?"

"Hell, yes. I'm proud of Maria. I'm proud of the fact that she's my sister. I'm glad the world will know it now."

Charles put out his hand, and Frank grabbed it. "I'm very pleased to know that you approve of the move, Frank."

"You better believe it, Charles."

Charles nodded. "--But I sense, Frank, that there's something else on your mind. Something serious."

Frank nodded. "There is. Charles--have you ever heard of 'Sentinels'?" And he spoke quietly but earnestly to Charles for a few minutes.

Charles heard him out, in silence. When Frank was finished, he shook his head. "I do not believe this."

"It's true, though, nonetheless."

Charles laughed. "My God! Maria was right! I wonder what _else_ she got right." He looked sick. "But--genocidal robots? Sanctioned by the government? Incredible."

"You haven't heard anything from your own sources about this?"

Charles frowned. "Actually, Fred Duncan of the FBI warned me of something a few weeks ago, while we were having a routine exchange of information. But he was speaking in so veiled a manner that I didn't really know what he was saying. J Edgar Hoover is an admirable man, but sometimes he stuffs cotton into the mouths of his agents so that they can't even tell you the time of day in a straightforward manner."

"You didn't just read his mind?" Frank asked.

"Certainly not! That would have been dishonorable. We have an agreement, after all."

Frank laughed. "Prof--sorry, but if I were being warned by somebody from the FBI, I'd at least make damned sure what the hell he was telling me."

Charles shrugged. "Be that as it may, Frank, Fred Duncan and I have a working relationship. He probably went further than he should by saying anything to me at all."

"Well, now you know what he was talking about," Frank said. "What are you going to do about it?"

"I don't know," Charles said. "But I certainly intend to learn everything I can about this Bolivar Trask. Perhaps see what Reed and Hank Pym know. I am very grateful to you for telling me this, Frank."

"What the hell," Frank said. "It's just my job, and _that's_ gone for sure, anyway. Easy come, easy go."

Charles Xavier laughed out loud when Frank said that, and refused to tell him why.


	30. Homecoming: Reading

Chapter Thirty

* * *

The Greyhound Bus pulled into the Reading station, and Hank McCoy came out of his doze. He looked out the window. Yes, there was Main Street, exactly as it had been the last time he saw it. Nothing changed. Nothing ever changed in Reading, Pennsylvania.

He grabbed his bags from above him, and departed the bus. Dad was going to pick him up, but he didn't see him about. He looked carefully at the people he _did_   see. No one whom he recognized, thank God. His memories of this place, though he called it "home" until two years ago, were not particularly affectionate. The people seemed defeated, listless. They walked in a sort of controlled hopelessness, as if nothing in this place could be, ever was, ever would be, conducive to optimism. _Well, then--nothing has changed._

He walked out the front of the station, and sat down on a bench in front to wait for Dad. He looked at his feet, a target that he couldn't very well miss. _Jokes. You depend on them, don't you, McCoy? Maybe now more than ever._ He tried not to think about Maria--for the millionth time. And failed, just as he always failed.

He couldn't get "Anna" out of his mind. Not as she had been that terrible day on the grounds of the Mansion, the Thinker gloating above her, writhing on the ground stricken with a trauma almost more than her sanity could bear. Hank had had a number of bad moments in his life, but that, he was certain, took first place. No, he thought of her as she had been in the Coffee-a-Go-Go, pulling a fast one on them, and succeeding admirably. Hank had never suspected for a second, and Maria was right--he, they, were indeed as thick as bricks. Then Jean, seeing the joke immediately, and the two girls running with it. He smiled. "Anna" was so alive that night, just in that brief moment, so vivacious, so thoroughly enjoying her pathetically brief time as a real girl. Was it impossible that this girl might actually exist some day--live the life she had a right to? He shut his eyes. Maria--Anna--next to him, her glossy black hair open to his touch, her lips reaching for his--just _one_   night, one hour, where they could be together as Scott and Jean were now...

He opened his eyes. The Professor knew Richards, Pym. Was it impossible? He had no idea. He did know that he had to quit eating his heart out in this manner. It was destroying him, and certainly doing Maria no good. He had been in love with her even as "Shift". He was more in love with "Anna", and he was honest enough with himself to admit it. And since it was impossible anyway, all he was doing was making the poor girl feel jealous of herself. He had to stop thinking about all this, before she broke under the strain and he came to feel resentment towards Scott and Jean, his closest friends, whose love he delighted in and cherished.

A Volkswagen pulled up in front of him, and Hank hailed his father. "Son," his Dad said, hugging him, a hug that Hank returned in full measure. Hank wasn't quite sure where he got his IQ from, but he had to admit it wasn't his Dad's side of the family. And that meant less than nothing. Dad had always been there, and had always been understanding. How many people in his position could that be said of?

His baggage put in the trunk, Hank got in next to his father and they started off. Dad had never been garrulous, and he didn't speak much as they rode along Schuykill Avenue, then north into an area of hills and modest working-class houses. Occasionally, as they passed the house of someone whom Hank knew, Dad would say a few words as to how they were doing, and Hank listened with interest. In general, though, nothing was different in Reading, an impression that confirmed his feelings back at the bus terminal. Soon they took a left and rode down a street of houses and random vacant lots, woodsy and rundown. They came to a frame house, much like all the others, but with a white picket fence guarding its independence like a sentinel. The Volkswagen pulled into the driveway, and soon Hank was being smothered by Mom's embrace, which he had to admit felt pretty good.

Even though it was only mid-afternoon, Mom had prepared enough food for the Eighty-Second Airborne, and Hank admitted to himself that--Carla or no Carla--there was nothing like it. He attacked the food as though it was the Brotherhood itself, and felt he managed to fight it at least to a draw. Mom beamed at him as he did so, asking him occasionally if he was being well-fed at the School, and Hank, despite his assurances, wasn't quite sure he convinced her. Dad ate, too, though not with the appetite of his son. This was a ritual that Mom always insisted upon--eat first, everything else later. His appetite finally gave out, but not before they gathered in the living room with some coffee and Hank's favorite dessert, gingerbread and whipped cream, securely in front of him.

"Well," he said at length. "It's nice to come up for air after that feast, Mom."

She smiled at him. "I hope so! As a growing boy--"

Dad snorted. "If he 'grows' anymore, Edna, he'll be as big as a tank."

Mom looked severely at her husband. "Norton McCoy, my son will be properly fed in _my_   house, thank you very much!"

Dad acknowledged his defeat with a wave of his hand, and Hank leaned back on the couch. It felt strange to be here, in this house, in this town, with these people. It had been his whole life not that long ago. So much had happened since, and this place felt alien, and even his parents seemed unreal to him. Well--a few more of Mom's meals would fix _that._

"How are you keeping yourself, son?" Dad asked. "Professor Xavier keeping you on the ball?"

Hank almost laughed, remembering how often he literally balanced himself on balls of various sizes in training. "Yes, sir," he said. "He keeps us on our toes." _Cut it out, McCoy!_ "We're all pretty busy. I'm learning a lot."

"That's good, Hank," Mom said. "The Professor is such a smart man, a learned man. We both feel very fortunate that he took such an interest in you."

"He is indeed all of that, Mom. Yes, I feel lucky, too."

"And this new girl, Maria? How's _she_ fitting in?"

Hank paused. The Professor had said it was all right for them to tell their families that a student named Maria Gianelli existed, and was a student at the School. Had they visited the School and asked to see her, well, she could have had a convenient virus, or field trip, or anything, really, to avoid being seen. _Another excellent reason for the action we've decided upon,_ Hank thought to himself. _It's pathetic. Like the Dog Ate My Homework._ Had the sheer grind of these sort of commonplace deceptions been the deciding factor, Hank wondered--for all of them?

"She's fitting in well," Hank said. "She's very different, but smart, and we're all crazy about her."

"That's so nice," Mom said. "Hank--I know that Jean is spoken for--" Hank almost upchucked a piece of gingerbread. How the hell did Mom know _that?_   Certainly not from _him-_ \- "but this girl, this Maria. Your letters speak so eloquently, between the lines. And what I hear in your voice--she's special to you, isn't she?"

Hank nodded. "Yes, Mom, I'd have to agree with that."

Dad smiled appreciatively at his son. "Well, Hank, I'm looking forward to meeting her on our visit after Christmas."

"It'll be interesting, Dad, that's for sure."

* * *

Hank spent the next few days walking around his old hometown, not seeking confrontations with his old friends, and those who remembered his dramatic leave-taking, but not running away from them, either. For the most part, people ignored him, or turned away when they saw him, an old memory of something not quite right, but not something they brooded about either. He'd be sitting at the soda fountain at the drug store, drinking a milk shake, and there would be Stella Petrucci, with whom he had done a science project in old Hillman's Physics class, and Stella would peer at him, recognize him, her eyes would pop open, she'd kind of nod, and move on. Or he'd walk into a pool hall, just to polish some of his rusty skills for the next tournament at Harry's Hideaway. And there was Steve Fitzpatrick, who had been his chief tormenter as a child. They had buried the hatchet later, when Hank played football and Steve blocked for him, and who had been there that day he jumped on the goal posts. Steve looked away, and soon left, and Hank felt a wave of pity for him. He and Steve had once serenaded the McGuire twins underneath their windows with a rendition of "Are You Lonesome Tonight?", a romantic gambit which their father had brought an end to very promptly indeed.

Feeling dispirited, Hank would wander through town, occasionally stopping to speak to those who recognized him and didn't cut him--a very small number, actually. On Christmas Eve he was walking along Schuykill Avenue, and slowly started to cross a bridge over the Schuykill River towards Wyomissing, when he heard a voice call out tentatively.

"Hank? Hank?--it _is_ you, ain't it?" He looked as a female figure walked towards him out of the cold mist of the evening. As she took on form under the street lamp, Hank saw with pleasure that it was Brenda Koplowitz. Brenda was a mess, as she always was in his mind. Tall, ungainly, chunky, hair never flattering, clothes always inappropriate. A look of intense concentration on her face, as if by sheer effort she could overcome her handicaps--the most obvious one being that she was what was euphemistically called "slow". But it was a blessed slowness, because Brenda had a quality about her that reminded Hank of a Holy Fool. There wasn't an ounce of maliciousness or spite in this poor girl, and she could often see at a glance what smarter people spent their whole lives overlooking.

"Hi, Brenda," Hank said, and she came up and gave him an unambiguous hug.

"Jeez, Hank--it's so good to see ya again," she said.

"It's good to see _you,_ Brenda," Hank said, and meant it. She smiled.

"Gosh, Hank, that's good of ya. I've missed ya, ya know. I think of ya a lot."

"I think of you, too, Brenda," Hank said, with more chivalry than honesty.

"Jeez, Hank, really? That's good of ya. That somebody as important as _you_   are thinks of me."

"I'm hardly important, Brenda," Hank said with a laugh, but Brenda looked intently at him.

"But Hank--how can ya say _that?_   I mean, you bein' an X-Man and all."

Hank said nothing for some time. He wasn't even sure his heart was beating. "What do you mean?" he finally was able to say.

Brenda looked distressed, and put her hand to her mouth. "Oh, Hank, I'm sorry, is it supposed to be a secret, I didn't realize, I'm always doin' and sayin' the wrong thing--"

Hank patted her shoulder. "That's OK, Brenda. But what did you mean?"

"Oh, Jeez, I put my foot in it!" the girl said with a wail. "I'm always puttin' my foot in it! I know I'm dumb, Hank, but this, this is too important I shouldn't be let out at all even _with_   a keeper oh Hank I'm so sorry--"

Eventually Hank was able to calm the girl down, and he put his arm around her shoulder and felt her shivering. "It's OK, Brenda," he finally said. "But please, concentrate. Why do you say I'm an X-Man?"

She looked him right in the eyes, with the total honesty of a--well--Holy Fool. "Well, Hank, _ain't_ you one?"

Hank licked his lips despite the cold of the night. "Brenda--this is important. Why do you think I'm an X-Man?"

She looked out over the river, and squinted. "Well Jeez, Hank, I mean, come on. _You_ get called the 'Beast' as a football player. Ya jump up on the goal posts, and show a size fifty pair of feet, and do all sorts of stuff no one else can do. Then ya leave town, and almost right away there's this guy on the X-Men called the 'Beast', and he goes around in _his_   bare feet, and he does all that stuff too, and he's just your height and weight--" She paused, breathless. "I mean, who _else_ is it gonna be, Hank?"

Hank looked over the railing, out over the Schuykill River, and wondered briefly if he should jump in as a warning to all idiots. Finally he sighed, and turned to Brenda. "Indeed, Miss Koplowitz. Indeed. Who else could it be?"

"Then ya ain't mad at me, Hank?"

Hank kissed her. "My dear girl--there's one thing on God's good green Earth that I could never be, and that's mad at you."

She smiled, a little shyly. "Jeez, Hank, that's good of ya to say." She looked at him. "You're gonna leave now, ain't ya?"

"Yes, Brenda, I most indubitably am."

Brenda laughed. "I always loved it when you used them big words, Hank. Ya really know what they mean?"

"I most assuredly do," he said. "And frankly, Brenda, they don't mean a damned thing."

She shook her head. "Oh, no, Hank. Sure they do. You're not like me, you're smart. Ya gotta use them words. Use 'em, and maybe you can make up some of your own someday."

Hank laughed, long and hard, and kissed her. "Merry Christmas, Brenda!"

"Merry Christmas, Hank!" he heard her call out, as Hank practically flew back to his house, and slept like a rock that night.

* * *

Christmas morning was a decided success, Hank thought. His parents had given him some new fur-lined gloves, and a dictionary--he not having the heart to tell tham that the Professor had every dictionary in the language at the Mansion--and some maple sugar, and renewed his subscription to _Recreational Mathematics Magazine,_ and several other things too, all of which he cherished. He gave them a pair of earrings, and a new bowling ball, and a subscription to _Sports Illustrated,_ and a subscription to _McCall's,_ and various other things as well, all of which _they_   cherished. They also gave him a two-foot globe to give the Professor, and while he already had a six-foot globe in the library, he was certain that this gift would find a ready home nevertheless.

Then Mom had a brunch all ready, and they ate eggs and bacon and ham and toast and generally got themselves pleasurably stuffed. Afterwards, they were in the living room with coffee cake and coffee and milk, and Hank was in a very good mood indeed.

 _Well, let's jump in at the deep end._ "Mom, Dad--"

"Yes, son?" his Dad said, and Hank was surprised at the tone in his voice.

"Folks--there's something I must tell you." He paused, not exactly sure how to proceed. "You remember my last football game, of course. My inglorious little exploit on the goal posts--"

Mom cut in. "Hank, we can make this simple. We know that you're one of the X-Men."

He shut his eyes and felt himself sink down in the sofa. "My God--does _everybody_ in Reading know who I am?"

"I don't think so, son," Dad said. "We don't hear about it, anyway. That stunt of yours, and the feelings it aroused--well, things happen in this world, and time passes, and people forget. Or if they remember, it's like it's just one of those things, and isn't the world a funny place, and by the way, whatever _did_   happen to Hank McCoy, anyway?"

Hank nodded. "Indeed. People are wrapped up in their own affairs."

"That's right, Hank," Mom said. "But you're our son, and _you're_   our 'affair'. The Professor came and took you to his School. And then, well, we saw this mutant called the 'Beast', and that _was_ your own nickname, after all, and he could do everything you could do--"

Hank shut his eyes; he was hardly listening. He was thinking about how badly he had underestimated his parents. He felt himself burn with shame at the thought. He looked right at them.

"Yes, Mom, Dad. I _am_   the Beast. I _am_   an X-Man."

His Dad nodded. "Well, son, I'm glad you didn't waste time denying it." He paused, looked thoughtful. "I can't say we've enjoyed the thought that you're out there, risking your life and fighting people like this Magneto. He sounds pretty dangerous, son."

Hank laughed. "He _is_ dangerous, Dad."

"Maybe. But _you're_ pretty dangerous yourself, son. _He_   better watch out for _you._ "

"I think I've made him do just that, Dad," Hank said quietly. "Well, this makes things easier. The main thing I wanted to talk to you about is a decision we've made recently. Let me tell you all about it--"

It took Hank a half-hour to tell them everything, and to answer all their questions. Finally, Edna McCoy looked at her husband with a serious expression. "What do you think, Norton?"

His father puckered his lips. "Edna--if it was only me, I'd be all for it. But there's _you_   to think of. If this does make things more dangerous for you--"

"Now, you stop that right now, Norton McCoy," his wife said. "For heaven's sake, what do you take me for, anyway? A coward? This is our _son._ And I'm proud of him, who he is and what he does." She turned to Hank. "You say this Magneto knows who you are?"

"Oh, indeed he does," Hank answered. "As do many of our other enemies."

"So, Norton, just how long do you think _they're_   going to keep quiet?" she asked. "We're already in danger, if it comes to that. I'd rather face it than live in ignorance."

Dad still looked unhappy. "Maybe so, Edna--but does it make sense to have _all_   their enemies know, now? Seems to me it just increases the danger over what it already was."

"Oh?" she said. "If the X-Men publicly swore to protect us? And maybe their friends, the Fantastic Four and the Avengers?" She turned to Hank. "You _really_   know Sue Storm, Hank? She's so beautiful!"

Hank smiled. "Oh, I do indeed," he said, as if a cursory meeting during the Thinker-Puppet Master affair qualified.

"Well, see!" she said, turning to Norton as though she had just scored a point--as perhaps she had.

Hank turned to his father. "Dad--there are no guarantees in this world. I told the others during our talk that you all--our families--were living in a fool's paradise, anyway. Now I learn that you've known all along. If this is so, then you must have been aware of dangers lurking. This way, we can put the world on notice that we won't tolerate threats to our loved ones. Jean said this might be like what the Israelis do--a no-tolerance policy regarding threats and attacks against their people. Mom, Dad--you're here. _I'm_ here. The X-Men are here, a reality. I'm not going to say it'll be easy. You recall how much hostility there was, after my caper on the goal posts. That will all come out again. I can't pretend there isn't ignorance and bigotry in this world. There is, and it's directed against us, against mutants. When we come out, it may be directed against _you_ as well. I'd be lying if I said otherwise."

Edna McCoy said nothing, looking at her husband. He thought for a long time. "Well, son," he finally said, "if anyone gets antsy towards us because of _you,_ I guess there's nothing that would make me prouder."

Hank shut his eyes, and as a result didn't see his mother embrace his father. When he did open his eyes, his parents were standing together, looking down at him proudly.

"How's this gonna go?" his father asked. "You folks gonna hold a press conference and take your masks off, something like that?"

Hank frowned. "Frankly, sir, I don't have the slightest idea. I suppose we'll be doing exactly that."

"Then your mother and I will be proud to be there and support you, son. Mighty proud." And Hank went over to his parents and embraced them both.


	31. Homecoming: Port Jefferson

Chapter Thirty-One

* * *

Stepping down from the train at Port Jefferson, Bobby Drake dreaded seeing what he knew he _was_ going to see--his Mom, driving the family Pontiac, waving enthusiastically outside the entrance to the station. He smiled, waved back, and jumped into the car, tossing his baggage into the back seat.

"Hi, Mom," he said with a smile, and cringed inwardly as he got the reception he knew he'd get. "Sonny Boy!" his Mom cried out, and hugged him warmly, all the while ignoring the honks of the cars behind them. Bobby managed to disengage, and gently suggested they move on, which she did, flooring the gas pedal so that they jerked out into the street at an alarming rate of speed.

"--Mom--" Bobby said with a tinge of panic in his voice, as they just managed to avoid plowing into a Chevy Econoline, ran a stop sign, and almost--but not quite--side-swiped a couple of teen-age bike riders who gave them a few choice four-letter words as they drove off--words, Bobby had to admit, he didn't entirely blame them for.

"--your cousin Mary is in the National Honor Society," Mom was saying, her words coming as fast as the car was travelling. "Isn't that wonderful, Bobby? Everyone is _so_   proud of her, you know, and of course we're proud of _you,_ too, up there in Westchester with that _nice_ Professor Xavier, although a few of those students are so _odd,_ like that young man who never takes his dark glasses off, and I can't help but wondering if there isn't some _issue_ there, like maybe some problem with drugs, though of course I don't mean _that,_ no not at all, it must be some prescription drug or something, and that rather chunky young man with the glasses doesn't he have a sort of _proportion_ problem you know, and is it hormones or glands and doesn't the Professor know what to do about _that_ I mean, he _is_   so clever and seems to know _everything_ and there's that _nice_ young man with the blond hair who looks so lordly and majestic and that _darling_   girl who looks so beautiful I mean really she could be a movie star though I understand there's a new student here and are we ever going to see _her_   this poor Maria I get the feeling that she's a bit of a shut-in and all--"

Bobby took it in one ear and out the other on the way home, in a section of Port Jefferson that looked much like everyplace else on Long Island. It hadn't quite become one big housing development from Queens to Montauk, but it was well on the way towards it. Their house was set slightly apart, which gave it a _cachet_   few others in town had. Dad was still at work, as Mom kept talking all the way in and finally stopped for breath.

"Oh, Bobby, why don't you shut me up?" she finally asked. "I'm bending your ear off!" She looked closely at him. "Doesn't the Professor make you wear _decent_   clothes, I mean those look like you've had them ever since you left for his school--"

Bobby took his luggage upstairs, Mom's voice still going in the background. He unpacked, and came down to find Mary there, on her way home from school. He was delighted to see his cousin, for more than one reason. He suggested a walk, and she agreed heartily.

Outside, he took a theatrical deep breath. "Mom's great," Bobby said, "but once she gets up a head of steam--"

Mary laughed. "Oh, don't I know it," she said. "But she's really a great gal, Bobby. Just a little--enthusiastic."

"I know."

"She _swore_   up and down to me that she wasn't going to do it--you know, bend your ear, nitpick. 'Oh, he's going to _enjoy_ this Christmas, even if I have to cut my tongue off', she assured me." Mary smiled at Bobby and took his arm. "Guess it didn't work out that way, huh?"

He shook his head mournfully. "It never really does, Mary. But she means no harm."

"I know," Mary said, swinging his arm in sync with hers. "Now, tell me the news about the X-Men."

Bobby smiled. Mary had guessed his secret early on, and having someone outside the School whom he could confide in was a blessing. "Oh, God, what _isn't_   there to tell?" He gave Mary a long description of everything that had occurred since they last spoke, which included almost the entire time Maria had been at the School. Bobby held nothing back, both because he trusted Mary implicitly and also because of the decision they had reached--which was the last thing he told her.

Mary was quiet a long time after he had finished. "This is a big step," she finally said, and Bobby laughed.

"Don't we know it."

"No, I mean-- _big._ " She shook her head. "I don't think any of you know how big it is yet, Bobby. Oh, don't get me wrong--I approve, myself. I think staying hidden out of fear is as wrong as acquiescing in any bigotry." She looked unhappy. "But Bobby--it's going to raise hell _here._ Especially with your Dad."

Bobby winced. He had tried to avoid thinking about his father for as long as possible. "Dad will see reason."

"Oh, Bobby, I hope those aren't famous last words!"

 _Me, too,_ he thought to himself, but didn't answer out loud. They walked over to the shopping center and did a little window shopping, Mary oohing and ahhing at some new skirts a full two inches above the knee. Bobby did a little oohing himself at the sight of them, wondering just when this rise in hemlines was going to stop. Not for a long time, he hoped.

"Uh-oh," Bobby said, as they saw a man approaching them. Mary's arm tightened around his, and they both winced as Roger Frazier walked up to them. Roger, a middle-manager at Stark Industries, was the man who had led what amounted to a lynching party when Bobby's powers had manifested themselves a few years earlier. Nice, middle-class Long Islanders had almost become something out of _The_ _Ox-Bow Incident._ Professor Xavier had wiped the memory of the entire incident of out the mob's heads, and Bobby had given it little thought since. Why, then, did he dread the approach of Roger Frazier?

"Robert," Frazier said, with seeming warmth. "How are you doing at that fancy school of yours up in the wilds of Westchester?"

"I'm doing just fine, Mr Frazier," Bobby said. "Just fine. Yourself?"

Frazier smiled. "Why, _I'm_   just fine, too, Robert. I have my lovely wife Patty, and two loving, terrific kids, John, who's thirteen, and Claudia, who's nine. And I'm pleased as punch about havin' em," he said, giving Bobby and Mary a big wink.

"Why--that's just wonderful Mr Frazier," Bobby said a bit weakly. "Just wonderful."

"You betcha," he said, and waved a hand as he moved on. "You tell your terrific parents--William and Madelaine Drake-- _hi_   for me, you hear?"

"Of course, Mr Frazier," Bobby said as the other man walked away. He looked at Mary, and she looked at him, and Bobby hoped that his face wasn't as full of puzzled dismay as hers was.

"Does he always talk like that, Mary?" he asked.

"No, Bobby," she said slowly. "He most certainly does not. But he did with _you._ " She looked at him. "I wonder why?"

Bobby felt sick. He had a pretty good idea why. The men whom the Professor had mind-wiped--were they _all_   like that? At least, when they'd talk--or even think--about _him?_ God, he hoped not. Frazier reminded Bobby of nothing so much as the Thinker's Marvel Girl android, trying to sound like a human being. _Jesus--does the Professor know about this?_

By the time they got home, and Bobby said goodbye to Mary, his Dad was there. Well, he had to get this over with... He entered the house, and the first thing he saw was his father, at the bottom of the stairs, a frown on his face.

"Well, it's about time _you_ got home," he said. "Your mother has been holding dinner for a good half-hour."

"I was with Mary," he said. "It's been a long time since we talked."

"That's no excuse for keeping dinner waiting!" his father said with a snarl. "When you consider how hard I work to keep a roof over your mother's head--"

Bobby sighed. At least Dad didn't pay the Professor a penny for tuition or board. And thank God. He nodded to Dad, and entered the dining room, to see his mother give him a reproachful look.

"Well, here you are at last," she said brightly. "Now we can eat."

"Yeah, Mom," Bobby said absently as he sat down. "Sorry."

The meal was good, despite its tardiness, and Bobby ate heartily. Mom kept up a machine-gun of talk about family and neighbors, which Bobby did his best to listen to while eating. Dad was quiet and had a perpetual scowl on his face. He seemed to be watching Bobby, looking for--what?--on his face.

After dinner, they went to the living room with coffee. "Now tell us," his father said, in almost a normal tone of voice, "how that school of yours is going. Is that new girl fitting in?"

Bobby smiled. "Well, it's been six months now, so I guess she isn't entirely 'new' anymore. But yeah, Maria is doing fine. At least, as fine as she can--" And Bobby stopped, and wished he could cut his tongue out, because he had blabbed. It was his father, and not his mother, who jumped into the breach.

" 'Can'?" he asked. "What do you mean, 'can'? Has she got something wrong with her?"

Bobby thought very fast. They'd know soon. He had to tell them _something_   convincing now. What the hell. "Maria has a skin condition," he finally said, quite truthfully. "It makes leaving the Mansion, seeing people, something of an ordeal for her."

His mother made an instant sound of sympathy, while his father frowned even deeper. "She must be 'gifted' even beyond you, then," he said. "If Xavier has her under those conditions." He looked hard at Bobby. "I've never quite understood just what the hell was so special about _you._ Oh, you'll make a good accountant--I'll grant you that. But Xavier, his prestige, his dough, even a visit from the damned FBI to encourage us to send you there--!" He shook his head. "Nothing you can tell us, boy?"

Bobby considered. He had been waiting for his moment, which he expected to come on Christmas day itself, but what the hell. Here the issue was, almost on a silver platter. Dad wasn't in a particularly good mood, but then, he was never in a particularly good mood. He was as relaxed as he ever was. And if he did it now, the horrible feeling of dread and anticipation would at least be over. Nothing could be worse than that.

"Yeah, Dad, actually there is," he said. "That's the main reason why we're all going home this Christmas. Mom, Dad--I have something important to tell you. _Real_   important. It's going to be a shock."

His mother seemed to shrink in upon herself, and his father's expression got even fiercer, if possible. "It's the CIA, isn't it?" he asked. " _They've_ recruited you, haven't they? The way they do from a lot of fancy schools? I've wondered about this for a long time--"

"No, Dad," Bobby said. "It's not that. It's something much more important."

"What's more important than the damned CIA?" his father challenged him.

"Dad--Mom--" Bobby found the actual speaking of the words even harder than he had feared. "Folks--I'm a mutant. Everyone at the Professor's School is a mutant. That's what we're there for--to learn how to be mutants. In fact," he said with a sigh, "we're the X-Men."

His mother just froze in her spot, seemingly not daring to breathe. His father looked at him, his eyes getting redder by the second. Finally, he exploded.

"You're _WHAT?_ " he cried out.

"Mutants, dad," Bobby said. "I'm the one known as 'Iceman', and--"

" _WHAT?_ " his father cried out again. "You mean--all this time--?" He shook his head, and gave out with an obscenity that shocked his wife. "I don't believe this," he said. "You're bullshitting us, son. You _are_ CIA." He took a deep breath. "It must be something damned important, if you've got a cover story like _that--_ "

Bobby slowly got to his feet, and his father became quiet. Bobby just looked at them, and iced up in front of their eyes. His mother screamed and fainted dead away. His father, stunned, caught between the evidence of his eyes and his wife's fainting, just shook his head dazedly.

"Stop it," he finally said. "Go back, dammit! Your mother needs me." Bobby returned to his human form immediately, and looked at his mother. "Is there anything I can do, Dad?" he asked.

"Yes!" his father cried. "Get the hell out of here, and I'll try to convince her she had a bad dream!"

Bobby shook his head. "No, Dad. there's been too much hiding already." He looked at his mother, who was already coming out of it. "OK, Mom--you're OK, you're fine--"

"Just get out of here! At least for now!" Bobby nodded, and went up to his room.

It was much later, after a series of hysterical outbursts on the part of Bobby's mother, and attempts--for the most part unsuccessful--on the part of his father to calm her down. She finally had managed to fall asleep, and William Drake walked into his son's room with a face totally devoid of expression.

"Your Charles Xavier is out of his goddamned head," he said, looking down at Bobby lying on his bed.

"Oh? Why do you say that, Dad?"

"Where do you want me to start?" his father said. "By gathering up _children_   as his damned foot-soldiers. By mentally lobotomizing anyone who stumbles across his trail." He looked very hard at Bobby. "I understand a lot now that I didn't before. Did he lobotomize _me?_ And your mother?"

Bobby frowned unhappily. He didn't have the slightest idea if the Professor had "lobotomized" Mom and Dad, and wasn't sure he wanted to know. "I don't know, Dad."

" _You don't know!_ " his father cried out, but in a restrained voice. "You just don't goddam _know?_ You don't tell me that, boy. You just don't tell me _that._ "

"Do you want me to lie then, Dad?"

"I don't know what the fucking hell I want!" his father cried out in despair. "My God, boy--this Xavier has sent you-- _you,_ a boy of _sixteen_ \--up against _Magneto?_ "

Bobby's voice sounded strange even to his ears. "Yeah, Dad, he has. He's sent all of us against him."

"All of you!" he snorted. "It's clear to me now. That kid who never takes his dark glasses off--Cyclops. The blonde--Angel. The kid with glasses who looks like a block of clay--the Beast. The red-head. Jean." He shook his head. "By God, I thought _she'd_ have more sense, anyway! Marvel Girl." And he suddenly looked surprised. "And by God, this 'new girl'--Shift?"

Bobby nodded, and his father grew thoughtful for a second.

"Huh. A 'skin condition'." He stared at his son. "You mean she _can't_ look like a human being, son?"

"No, Dad," Bobby said, feeling all over the shame of his reception of Maria when she joined the team.

"Well, I'll give Xavier _that,_ " his father said sarcastically. "Come one, come all, no matter the condition of your skin--or anything else. Glad you don't have to look like a human being to be an X-Man. Gee, _that_ must be a consolation for the girl."

"Not really, Dad."

"No. Maybe not." His father paced around the room. "Boy--I've just spent the better part of two hours trying to calm your mother down. Who's been having hysterics over the thought of _you,_ her son--a _child_ \--getting killed by someone who can literally move asteroids out of their orbits. My God, this is child abuse! I'm going to get a lawyer and sure your precious Professor for every damned cent he's got."

"Dad, please--you can't do that!"

"Hah! Try and stop me!"

"But Dad--that would mean the end of the X-Men!"

"What the hell do you think I'm _trying_ to do? We can only hope!"

Bobby shook his head. "You can't, Dad. You just can't. What we do is too important."

"Important to who? To _him?_ "

"To all of us, Dad. To the world. And to us mutants. We need the X-Men, Dad. We need it desperately."

"For what?" he said savagely. "And for God's sake, why does the damned _government_ support this child abuse, anyway? As they so obviously do? Has everybody lost their goddam minds?"

"Dad--please. Before you do anything--will you hear me out? Listen to me?" The sting of desperation in Bobby's voice must have reached William Drake, because he suddenly stopped pacing, brought up a chair to the bed, and sat down.

"All right, son. You want to talk to me? About these 'X-Men'? Go ahead. I'll listen. You have a right to speak your piece."

"Thanks, Dad," Bobby said, with genuine gratitude. And slowly, stumblingly, with hesitations and backtracking and pauses, but also with total conviction, he began to speak of the Professor, of the School, of meeting Cyclops and joining him, of the Angel and the Beast and Marvel Girl and Shift and how they joined, of their missions and how they looked after each other, how they had become something so much greater than the sum of their parts, of the reality of mutants and how they had forged a strategy to deal with that reality, of how they wanted to make a world in which both mutants and humans could live together in harmony, and of how they were opposed by others, who believed in mutant supremacy and their own aggrandizement. His father would frequently stop him to ask questions, hard questions, and Bobby simply tried to answer them as honestly as he could, neither knowing or caring how his answers were affecting his father, knowing only that total honesty was the only thing that could save him, all of them. Finally, he finished, and his father had no more questions, and Bobby sat there on the edge of the bed, exhausted mentally and physically, almost in tears.

His father rose and went to the window, silent for a long time. Then he turned and asked his son one last question. "Robert--why now? Why did you tell us all this _now?_ "

Bobby licked his lips, swallowed hard. "Because we've come to a decision, Dad."

"Oh? What decision is that?"

"We've decided to abandon our secret identities," Bobby said, his words sounding flat and unconvincing to his ears. His father was silent again for a long time.

"You don't say," he said at last.

"Yeah, Dad. I _do_ say. That's what we've decided."

His father looked as if he couldn't absorb anymore. "OK, boy," he said. "Why?"

So Bobby told him guardedly of what had happened to Maria, and her telling her teammates about her human form, and the meeting she called to discuss the matter, and the debate the team had had, and how the Professor had decided to let _them_ make the decision.

"We've been covering up for so long," he finally said. "It's just been too much for us. We don't feel that it's something to be ashamed of, Dad. That by doing what we've been doing, we're somehow playing the game of those who hate mutants." He shook his head. "I know that doesn't make any sense to you, Dad, but it was what we thought."

His father snorted. "That's actually the only part of it that _does_ make any goddam sense to me," he said fiercely. "Be yourselves, and dare the world to spit in your eye." He paused a moment. "And what of _us_? Were you thinking of the effect on us, Bob?"

"Of course, Dad. But you heard what I told you--Magneto, others--they _already_ know about us. That means--"

"That means they know about _us,_ too," his father said, suddenly quieter. "Me. Your mother. The families of the others, too." He bit his lip. "Something else your precious Xavier was planning to keep to himself--until when? When one of your enemies came swooping down on us unawares and killed us, or took us hostage?"

Bobby shook his head. "I don't know, Dad, and that's the truth."

And to Bobby's astonishment, his father came over and put his hand on Bobby's shoulder, almost gently. "Son--I can't say what kind of pressure you've been under, ever since you joined this School. Ever since you knew you were a mutant." He shook his head. "It's beyond me. But I do know the effect it's had on your mother. She's--"

"She's over her hysterics," a voice said from the doorway, and his mother was there. She walked into Bobby's room. "And she's been listening to this discussion with interest. With _great_ interest."

"Maddy!" his father said, going over to her. "Please--you aren't ready--"

"For what?" she said, pushing her husband away. "For a discussion regarding my son's _real_ life? For once? If I'm not ready now, when will I be?" She looked at Bobby. "Son--I can't understand all of this. I don't understand how you, your Professor, were able to keep all this from us. What made him think he had the _right_   to risk having to call us one day to tell us that you were dead, in a war that we would have had no idea existed before that call?"

Bobby shrugged unhappily. "I don't think he felt that way, Mom. It was just that--"

"Oh, yes. 'Just'. Always, it would have been 'just'." She leaned over and kissed her son. "Bobby--are you happy? I mean, fighting for your life when most boys your age have no more pressing concerns than acne and the junior prom?"

"I'm happy, Mom," he said, very quietly. "Yes, I can say _that,_ anyway. I am happy. To be an X-Man, to be with my friends. In life. Or death."

"That's honest, anyway," his father growled. His mother said nothing for some time.

"Bobby--I confess, I'm at a loss. You _are_ a mutant. That is a fact. It's a fact that I don't want to be true, that I wish I could erase--but I can't. You _are_   a mutant."

"Yes, Mom."

"And given that fact--Bill, don't look at me like that!--given that fact, I think you're doing exactly what you _should_ be doing."

"Maddy--!"

"No, Bill. I know I'm a silly woman who jabbers and never shuts up, and maybe I haven't a grain of sense. But this is my son, and I love him. If there's anything in the world I can say with absolute assurance, it's _that._ " She looked at Bobby with tears in her eyes. "I want what's best for you, son. And what will make you safest--considering that you _are_   a mutant." She turned to William. "Bill--if the X-Men _were_   broken up, if you _did_   sue the Professor and forced him to close the School--would that make Bobby more, or less, safe?"

William Drake looked at his wife with steel in his eyes. "Maddy--if he weren't a member of that damned School, he wouldn't be a target!"

"Oh, Bill--how naive can you get? If he were here, going to high school and then C.W. Post, studying to be an accountant--do you really think Magneto would leave him alone? Or any of the other predators out there in the jungle? _Do_ you, Bill?"

"I--" His father suddenly collapsed into his chair. "I don't know, Maddy."

She kissed his cheek. "Dear Bill-- You don't know. Neither do I. Don't you think it's at least _possible_ that for mutants, there's strength in numbers? That they're stronger together than they could ever be separately?"

William looked hopelessly at his wife, then his son. "God, Maddy--I don't know. I just know that what's happening isn't right."

"Of course it isn't right," she said, and Bobby was shocked, even horrified, by the intimacy in her voice as she talked to Dad. He had never wanted to hear his parents talk to each other like this. "Bill-- _nothing_ is 'right' in this situation. I know that. Bobby knows that. Professor Xavier knows that."

"He does, Dad," Bobby said. "Really, if he knows anything, he knows that."

William looked at Madelaine. "And you're OK with their giving up their identities?"

"I don't know, Bill," she said simply. "I have to think about it. I have to think about _everything._ But we're going to the School after Christmas." She turned to Bobby. "I assume the other parents will be there?"

Bobby nodded.

"Yes, of course. Bill--we can think about it. We can consult with them, and with the Professor, and talk to the other X-Men. Especially this poor girl, Shift." She smiled. "I'm glad this was _her_   idea--! But anyway, Bill, that's what we can do. And we can face reality. At last."

William went back to the window, and thought for a long time. "I'm not ruling out any action," he finally said. "Including that lawsuit. _That's_ understood."

"Of course, Bill," Maddy said.

"Absolutely," Bobby said.

"Then OK," he said reluctantly. "We think. We go to Westchester. We talk. Then we'll see where the hell we all are."

"Thank you, my husband," Maddy said, kissed him, kissed Bobby, and took a deep breath.

"You'll excuse me," she said. "I'm very tired. I need to get back to sleep." And she left the room.

Neither man spoke for some time. Then: "Thanks, Dad."

William Drake shook his head. "Don't, boy. Just don't." He smiled, almost, it seemed to Bobby, against his will. "I never could refuse her anything. If she _really_ wanted it." He came over, and he and his son shook hands. "You'll excuse me, boy. _I'm_ pretty tired mysef."

"Good night, Dad."

"Good night, Bobby."

The remainder of the holiday went well. They never discussed the X-Men, or anything relating to them, and Bobby had a good time. What's more, he thought his parents did, too. Especially his father.


	32. Homecoming: Centerport

Chapter Thirty-Two

* * *

Traffic on the Long Island Expressway was modest, and Warren arrived in Centerport soon after noon. He seemed reluctant to go right to his family's estate, and drove around the shore for awhile, wondering what the problem was. He couldn't honestly claim that his family had a warm and loving relationship. His father was cold and demanding, and his mother often seemed so withdrawn that she might have been absent. But that was par for the course, really. Warren had been away at schools so much that his parents sometimes seemed like ghosts, insubstantial creatures whom he loved, but didn't really know. Servants, and Dr Stuart, had been his confidants. And a few special friends, like Cameron Hodge at school. And of course Candy. It had made him independent, and maybe suspicious of people, too. Everyone seemed to want a piece of him growing up. Being Warren Worthington the Third seemed to preclude real friendships. Then came his mutation--and the X-Men...

Well, he knew now that he _was_ capable of genuine friendships. Heck, he felt he was pretty good at them. The dynamic he had established with his friends--and he felt happy and proud every time he thought of that word--was the whole world to him. And things that he might have thought could spoil it--like Jean's establishing a relationship with Scott--had the paradoxical quality of enhancing it, instead. Now that he knew that Jean didn't really love him--at least as he had wanted her to--he felt that their friendship had actually increased. There wasn't that quality of flirtation that had existed before--at least, let's be fair, on _his_   part. And he had to admit, he was just as happy it was gone. He realized to his surprise that he preferred Jean as a comrade, despite his ache every time he thought of her. And the way he had instantly established a rapport with Maria. But of course, _she_   made it easy. So alive, and so glad to _be_ alive, despite--everything.

Warren sighed to himself. That girl, whom he soared with once a week, could fly all the time, even though she didn't realize it. The secret she recently told them all was tearing at his heart. Could the Prof do something about it? He didn't know, and tried not to think about it too much. It was out of _his_   jurisdiction. But the thought of this eating away at the lives of Maria, and Hank, made him feel helpless.

Finally, inevitably, his Lincoln Continental pulled into his driveway, and soon he was at the front door, bags in hand, and Plunkett was welcoming him home. "Goodness, Mr Warren, but you've gotten bigger! Professor Xavier's School must be agreeing with your health."

Warren smiled. "You really know how to lay it on, don't you, Plunkett?"

The butler smiled enigmatically. "An art one must cultivate in my position, Mr Warren."

"Well, you do it with panache," Warren said, squeezing the old man's shoulder as he entered the immense house--even bigger than the Professor's Mansion. A valet took Warren's luggage upstairs to his room, and Warren looked inquiringly at Plunkett.

"Where is everyone, Plunkett?" he asked.

"Well, sir, your father is in New York at work. Your mother is away at a Republican Ladies' Club meeting. Your uncle Burtram--" Warren cringed inside. He had never liked Uncle Burt very much, and tried to avoid him whenever possible-- "was here, but recently flew down to the Bahamas to spend the holidays with--ahem--a friend." Warren breathed an internal sigh of relief. No Burtram! Merry Christmas! He would have bet a very large sum that his uncle's "friend" was 36-24-36, and an employee of the Playboy Club. "I do believe that Doctor Stuart is around somewhere--"

"Fine," Warren said. "I'll run into him." That turned out to be the billiard room, where Stuart--a tall man in his sixties with a drooping white moustache--was slowly nursing a scotch-and-soda, and seemed surprised to hear Warren come into the room. Warren thought he saw a sharp, almost fierce, expression on the older man's face when he first saw him, before he resumed his cool mask.

"Warren!" he said, getting up and shaking his hand warmly. "My boy, the happiest of holidays! How are you, anyway?"

"Oh, I'm OK, Doc," Warren said. "But _you-_ -you looked like you were serious about _something_   when I came in here. Anything you'd like to share?"

Stuart looked embarrassed. "Oh, nothing, my dear boy, nothing at all. A minor business matter, nothing more... The School goes well? And Professor Xavier, he is well, too?"

"It, and he, are terrific, Doc," Warren said. Doctor Stuart was the only member of his home circle who knew he was a mutant, and he had never regretted the old man's knowledge. He always gave Warren good, straight-shooting advice.

"Good, good," Stuart said. "And this girl--this 'Shift'. How is _she_   progressing? You don't seem able to--ah--go out in public with her."

"We can't," Warren said slowly, wondering why, for a split-second, Dr Stuart seemed almost overcome with emotion at the very thought of Maria. "Maria's condition is--well, it's hard to explain. But really, Doc, that's why I'm here." And Warren spent the next several minutes explaining to Doctor Stuart the decision the X-Men had made to reveal their identities. The old man seemed to get more and more excited with every word.

"My dear boy!" he said, when Warren was finished. "Oh, my God! This is very sudden, isn't it?"

"In a way it is, Doc, but in another way, it's been coming on for a long time," Warren said. "Maybe there was just some critical mass reached, or something. In any event, we're all going to talk to our families and see how things go." He looked at Stuart with a trace of concern. "How about it, Doc? What's _your_ verdict on what's going to happen?"

Stuart was silent for a long time. "Warren," he finally said, "I honestly don't know what to tell you. It will be a great shock, of course. You know I've always been in favor of your keeping your identity a secret. It was the right thing for your parents--and also, it seemed to me, coincided with your own inclinations."

Warren nodded. "It did, Doc. But I've thought it through, and I think the others are right. Like I said--a critical mass." He put his arm on Stuart's shoulder. "I know that I can count on your support."

Another wave of strong emotion seemed to pass over Stuart's face. "Of course, my boy, of course," was all he seemed able to bring himself to say. "When were you planning on informing your parents?"

"I still haven't decided," Warren said, spreading his hands. "Not tonight. But I don't want to wait long, either. Tomorrow's Saturday. Maybe sometime then, if the right opportunity comes along."

Stuart nodded. "That might be the right decision," he said.

His mother returned, and they had a warm, if restrained, reunion. Mom, it seemed to Warren, always was trying to learn to play her role as a Worthington. It wasn't as if she had to be practiced in it--she had been a Bowden from Providence, and was born into money just as her husband had been. No, it was rather as if Mom had never really accepted the idea that she had to grow up, get married, above all change her name and leave home, at all. She seemed perpetually homesick for Providence, while at the same time making an honest effort to be the best Worthington of Centerport that she could be. And, he had to admit, for the most part that was pretty good.

"How are you feeling, Warren?" she asked. "Is Professor Xavier providing everything you require?"

"Oh, Mom, he isn't exactly in the poorhouse. We do fine."

"That's good, dear," she said. "Your father might be a little late this evening--he has a meeting. "

"A meeting?" Warren asked. "What sort of meeting?"

"Oh, this new club he's joined--the Hellfire Club. There's a meeting tonight."

Warren frowned. "The Hellfire Club? _That_ sounds nice and cheerful."

"Oh, it's _very_ prestigious. Anyone who's anyone is a member. I haven't been there yet, but your father has said that we'll be going there as a couple soon. There's some silly formal initiation or something like that tonight--"

Warren nodded, not thinking too much about it. "Fine, Mom, fine. Is there anything else going on?"

"Not really. Oh, yes, you remember that nice girl Candy Sothern--"

Warren's heart started beating faster. "Yes, Mom?"

"Well, she's home from her finishing school for the holidays. I know you used to like her--" But she was speaking to a void, because Warren was already out the door, making a beeline for the Sothern home.

* * *

"Hi there, neighbor." Candy greeted Warren with a warm smile, and a firm handshake. Warren reciprocated, and made a quite genuine compliment to her on how she looked. Candy's eyes grew wide.

"Oh, my! Is this the classic Worthington technique, which I remember so well?"

Warren smiled. "You might say so," he said as casually as he could. Then he frowned. "But I'll be honest, Candy--I'm getting over a, well, a disappointment."

"Uh-huh. A 'disappointment'. And what are we disappointed in, Mr Worthington?"

Warren spoke very cautiously, aware that he was walking on emotional eggshells--for him, and for Candy. "A girl at my school. I thought maybe I loved her. And that she might love me. Well, it turned out that she didn't. And I guess I didn't, either--not really." He broke off, confused. "Well, no--of course I love her. It's impossible not to love Jeannie. But it's not what I might have hoped it would be."

Candy's smile looked like it was set in stone. " 'Jeannie'?" she said, very sweetly.

"Yes," Warren said, avoiding her face, then he decided what the hell and stared right at her. "Jean Grey. She's remarkable. Very beautiful. Loyal. Loving. She's like someone in a legend, come to life." He paused. "And she's in love with someone else."

Candy cut off the retort she had been about to make, and simply came over to Warren and took his hand. "I'm plain ol' me," she said. "As prosaic as they come, Warren. Nothing legendary about _me_."

"Thank God for that."

Candy's lips curled down a bit. "Hmmm. Is that a compliment, or an insult?"

"Oh, a compliment! Very much so!"

"Well, if you say so." Candy suddenly looked Warren right in the eyes. "No, Warren, really. Did you have it bad for this legendary Jean Grey of yours?"

"Yes," Warren said slowly, after a hesitation. "Yes, Candy, I did. She was not only beautiful and, well, legendary in herself. But because whoever won her love would be legendary, too. And I was selfish enough to want it to be me." He sighed, and looked out at Long Island Sound. "Instead, I'm like Horatio. Or Lancelot. The best friend, the one who is there and serves and worships from afar."

"Lancelot didn't exactly worship from afar."

Warren laughed. "No, and you aren't the first one to remind me of that." He shrugged his shoulders. "So--I'm plunged back into the real world. And while that's been a bracing experience, I have whiffs of nostalgia for the Camelot that could have been."

Candy took Warren's arm and headed down to the beach from her home's back terrace. "Come on, neighbor," she said. "Let's have a little winter beach air. Just the thing to clear your head." They walked for a long time, and talked, and by the time it was over Warren had come a long ways back from the ramparts of Camelot.

* * *

Saturday came, and Warren felt he was ready. His father had returned home late the night before, and Warren only had a chance to say hello. His father had seemed glad to see him, but no more. And this day, his father still seemed distant. Warren sighed to himself, but was committed.

His opportunity came early in the afternoon, after lunch. Mom had been buzzing about in the morning, but was relaxed in the living room with a book. His father had said something about going over to Paxton's for some bridge--he was a devotee of the game--but Warren put up a hand.

"Hold it, Dad. Mom--you, too. Would you both come with me into your study?"

His mother rose, a puzzled look on her face. His father raised his brows, and said, "well, what is this? A mystery?", and came along with his wife and son. They entered the study, and Warren went to the door, looked around to make sure no one was nearby, and shut the door.

"Well, son?" his father said, and Warren took a few breaths. He took off his jacket, and undid the top button of his shirt.

"Folks--I'm not going to try explaining this. It would waste time, and you wouldn't believe me. Better if I show you." And with that, he flexed his wings, and his harness split apart like it was made of papier mache, and he stood revealed before them as he really was.

There was nothing, no reaction at all, for a few moments. Then his mother screamed, and fainted dead away. Warren bent over her, tried to say something intelligible, but his father pushed him back.

" _You've_ done quite enough for the moment, son," he said, and went to a small bar and got a tumbler with some brandy in it. He bent over his wife, and put it under her nostrils, and she moaned and managed to take a sip of brandy.

"Dad?" Warren the Third said. " _You_ seem to be taking this--well, in your stride."

His father glared up at his son. "You'd be quite wrong if you assumed _that,_   Warren," he said. "Oh, quite wrong, indeed. I assure you that I am as far from being in my stride right now as I can ever remember being. But a Worthington never lets the world _see_ him out of his stride. Not even his family. Especially his family."

Warren made no reply, just watched as his mother came to. Finally, his father lifted her up gently and took her back up to the couch. Warren, bare to the waist, wings flapping quietly, said nothing. Finally his mother finished the brandy, and turned to her son.

"My God, Warren--what are you? Some sort of freak? How could you not have told us all this long before? And how were you _able_ to keep it all a secret--?"

"What is he?" his father said, looking intently at his son. "Well, _that,_ at least, can be easily answered. He's a mutant, Kathryn. Specifically, he's the Angel of the X-Men. Xavier and his damned school. I've never liked it or trusted it, and now I know why."

"The _X-Men?_ " Kathryn Worthington cried out, almost in a wail. "Oh, my God! Warren! You mean you go out and--and risk your life all the time..." She shook her head and began to shiver all over. Warren came over and took his mother's hands in his.

"Yes, Mom, that's exactly what I do," he said. "Mom. Mom! _Look_   at me!" She did so, and Warren stood there unflinchingly until Kathryn seemed to _see_   him, as he was, for the first time.

"My God," she said softy. "Warren--you mean, this has always been you? I--I had no idea--"

"No, Mom. I kept it from you. From _both_   of you." He turned to his father. "Dad--"

His father put a hand up. "I do not believe that any explanations are required for _me,_ Warren. The situation speaks for itself."

"Yes, sir." His mother finally seemed back to something more-or-less normal, but she held on tightly to her husband's hand.

"But it _is_ true, then?" she asked him. "You _are_ Angel, of the X-Men?"

Warren nodded. "I am, Mom."

"By God!" she said, hands on her cheeks. "Then that nice young man--with the dark glasses--"

"Cyclops," her husband said. "And the thick one with glasses--Beast. The kid--Iceman. And the red-head." He looked very closely at his son. "Marvel Girl, naturally. And _you_   let her get away from you, didn't you, son? I must admit, _that_   surprises me more than anything else."

Warren smiled. "She didn't love me, Dad."

"And just what has _that_ got to do with anything?"

Warren shrugged. He could either say nothing, or say too much and still not have his father understand. Best to say nothing.

"And--and that strange one, this 'Shift'--" his mother said. "We haven't met _her_ , Warren--"

"Neither has anyone else," he replied. "Maria can't assume human form."

"The poor dear," his mother said. "And that Professor Xavier of yours--there's nothing _he_   can do for her?"

"No, Mom. Not yet, anyway."

His father was staring hard at him. "Well, well. I hear the sound of something coming--something even more than _this._ You wouldn't have said what you just did unless there were more coming. What is it, boy?"

Warren leaned against the sofa, his wings still in full spread behind him. "Mom, Dad--we've decided to give up our secret identities."

Thee was a total silence from his parents. Finally, his mother said in a small voice: "But Warren--won't that be dangerous for you?"

He didn't answer, and his father laughed. "Of course it will be, Kathryn. But that's no barrier to youthful idealism! Don't tell me, let me guess. Xavier--who seems to be a damned fool, but is nonetheless no idiot--was against this. He had prudence and wise counsel on his side. But _you_ kids had youthful idealism. All of you--from working-class backgrounds, like McCoy, to lower-middle like Drake, to upper-middle like the girl, to none at all like Summers, to God knows what like this freak Shift, all the way up to _you-_ -all united, all ignoring class distinctions, all together, all for one, one for all. And you'll sweep all before you like a triumphant wave."

Warren smiled. "Yeah, Dad. Something like that."

His father snorted. "Christ on a crutch, boy--didn't I raise you with the sense God gave a rabbit? You really think it'll be that easy?"

"Of course not." Warren grew very serious. "It's going to complicate our lives in all sorts of ways, Dad. It'll increase some dangers, though decreasing others. It'll have a huge impact on _your_   lives, though I don't think it will put you in any greater danger than you already are--and have been, all along."

His mother gave a small squeal, but his father squeezed her hand and looked intently at his son.

" _There,_ at least, I agree with you, boy," he said. "I've already done a lot of thinking, just these past few minutes. Wondering if your mother and I are in danger of our lives. Of course, you're right. We've _always_ been in danger. We might be in less if you actually do this." He paused, looked again at his wife. "Go on."

Warren looked very serious for a moment. "Folks--we've been living in a cocoon. A fool's paradise. We've thought that by hiding ourselves away, we could have everything on _our_   terms. Well, it's been pointed out to us--very forcefully--that this little Utopia of ours has only been viable because our enemies have permitted it to be. And because no serious reporter has come after us. This can, will, change at any moment. Coming out will be hard. We'll have to engage with the world. Like so many other people have, who have lived in comfortable cocoons. But we think it's the right thing to do. And so did the Professor, in the end."

His mother, he noticed, actually seemed impressed by his speech. She looked up at her husband, and said: "He has a point, Warren. If more mutants really are coming along--well, it was only a matter of time. What good _is_   hiding, anyway?"

Warren was astonished. His mother, saying that! When she had hid away from life so much herself. His father shook his head contemptously.

"Youthful idealism," he said again in a mocking tone. "Did Xavier's friend Martin Luther King have anything to do with this?"

"Actually, he may have," Warren said smiling, remembering King's visit.

"I'm not surprised! And Xavier, of course, listened."

"He certainly did, Dad."

There was silence for another long while, and Warren said: "Dad, Mom, we want all the families to come to the Mansion after Christmas. We want to know what all of _you_   think, before we take any irrevocable steps. But I want you to remember that mutants _are_ a reality, the X-Men are a reality, and that we feel it's certain that our secret will be out sooner or later--probably sooner." He turned to his father. "Dad-- _you,_ at least, don't shrink from reality. You're gauging and examining this from all angles right now--I know you. You're thinking how you can turn this to your advantage--using that word broadly. And you also love me, though you don't like to admit it, even to yourself."

His father's mouth was a tight line. "Go on, son."

"So--you're thinking to yourself, 'this isn't going away. I have to make a decision'. But you can't make one now, it's still too much of a shock, and you need more information. The place to get that information is at the Mansion, after Christmas. You're beginning to realize this, and therefore, you and Mom will be there to consult with the Professor and the other parents. Just to sound out the lay of the land. You no doubt think that you'll have some strategy that you'll be able to push through--or for all I know, you _already_   have some such thing in your mind. Well, the only way to see is to be there. And getting you two there is the only strategy _I_   have at the moment."

His father looked at his son--almost proudly, Warren thought. "Boy--that's a damned good analysis of the situation. I couldn't have done better myself."

Warren smiled. "Everything I know I learned from _you._ "

"If only I could believe _that-_ -" He turned to his wife. "Well, Kathryn, how about it? Do we go?"

She looked startled. "Of, of course! Surely there's no doubt?"

His father sighed. "No, I guess there's no doubt at all." He gave his son a hard look. "But I damned well _will_   have a 'strategy', boy--you can count on that. You, and your Professor."

Warren put his hand out to his father, who took it. "Dad--I wouldn't have it any other way."


	33. Homecoming: Annandale-on-Hudson

Chapter Thirty-Three

* * *

Jean Grey was hoping desperately that her father would be the one to pick her up at the School. If it was her mother--  Jean shivered. One look from her mother would be enough. She'd know everything. Dad...well, Jean was confident she could twist _him_ around her little finger. After all, she always had. But Mom...

Her hopes were to be dashed, however, because it was indeed her mother who pulled up in front of the Mansion in the family Thunderbird. Jean hugged the Professor and Scott--they had done a damned sight more than "hug" not long before--and kissed Maria, and went out to greet Mom.

"Thanks for coming, Mom," she said, trying as hard as she could to make her voice natural, her movements normal, her face assume its normal color. Her mother didn't seem to notice anything, and Jean was hoping against hope that she could pull this off. She would have preferred a one-on-one with Magneto, to trying to fool Elaine Grey.

"Of course, dear," was all her mother said. She greeted the Professor and Scott before leaving with Jean. (Maria, of course, being exiled to the "attic". Well-- _that_ would be changing soon.) They drove slowly towards the Hudson and headed north on Route Nine. It was a cold, clear day and the roads were as yet untroubled with ice or snow. Elaine asked her daughter carefully neutral questions about the School and its students, as well as some about Maria, which Jean fielded deftly, glad to have to be careful about some topic other than Number One. Meanwhile, her mother answered questions about the doings in Annandale and the College, and Jean was beginning to breathe normally, thinking that maybe--just maybe--she had pulled it off.

They passed Hyde Park, and suddenly her mother pulled off Route Nine, taking an old dirt road that led to the crest of a hill that gave a direct view of the Hudson. They stopped to take a look, and Jean forgot everything else for the moment. The River had always been a source of wonder for her, and refreshment. It never lied, never let you down. She could remember Warren soaring above it, and later Maria as well, for those brief moments when she was in her eagle form, and she envied them that freedom to soar above the River more than they could know. In all seasons it was beautiful, and here in the winter with the bare trees providing a direct view of the bends in the River it was breathtaking.

Then reality intruded. "Well, Jean?" was all her mother said, but her heart froze. It was enough.

"Well, what, Mom?" she said, trying to sound as natural as she could. Her mother's expression could have been set in stone.

"Please, dear," she said. "Just don't lie. That's for other people, Jean. Not you."

Jean took a deep breath, and looked at the floor of the car. "What do you want to know, Mom?"

"How long."

Jean risked a brief look at her mother's face. "My birthday."

Her mother nodded in a business-like manner. "Quite so," she said. "Well, that's a relief in some ways. It hasn't been very long as yet. And you were sensible: wait until it's legal, but not a second longer. If you'll excuse my saying so, Jean, that sounds _very_ much like you."

"Thanks, Mom."

"Umm-hmm." Her mother frowned slightly. "I scarcely need to ask if you're being careful, dear."

"I hardly think so, Mom. Yes, of course we're being careful."

"Naturally. You respect Charles too much, if for no other reason. Well, that _is_ a relief to me."

"Yes, Mom."

Her mother looked closely at her daughter, then suddenly leaned over and hugged her. "Oh, darling--so you're a woman, too. We can talk now woman-to-woman."

Jean looked at her mother, feeling amazed. "Then you're not mad at me?"

Her mother smiled at her--and indeed, it was the smile of one woman to another. "Oh, yes, dear. Of course I'm mad. And upset, and resigned, and delighted, and a lot of other things. Above all, I'm not surprised. I know how you feel about Scott--no, don't act so shocked! _That_   has been obvious since the day you first set foot in Charles' school. And I know you, Jean. When you love, you do so totally. I was like that with your father, though you might never suspect it now."

Jean smiled at her mother. "I've kind of guessed over the years, Mom."

Elaine Grey smiled again like one woman to another--a conspirator's smile, that Jean returned. "Well, I'm glad. We never talked about these things, and maybe that was a mistake. I didn't with Sara either, and she turned out all right. Maybe I was hoping she'd talk with _you._ "

"Well, Mom, she sort of did," Jean said. "So that worked out OK."

"Quite so," her mother said. "I'm sorry she and her family won't be able to make it this Christmas. Going to visit _his_ family. Texas! My God." Elaine Grey shook her head. "Christmas in Texas. Or any other time, either... Well, I shouldn't say it, I suppose. God put Texas on this earth for a reason. We must think that."

"Yes, Mom," Jean said, trying hard not to laugh.

"Yes." Her mother paused and drew a deep breath. "Well, that was the easy part. Now--"

Jean smiled. " _That_   was the 'easy' part? What's the hard part, Mom? I'm afraid to ask."

Elaine Grey shook her head. "Well you might, Jean. The hard part..." She suddenly looked very unhappy indeed. "Jean--how are we going to tell your father about the X-Men?"

* * *

For Jean Grey, it was as if an age of the earth passed between her mother's words and her reply. "Huh?" she said stupidly. "Mom--what on earth do you--"

But she stopped, because her mother put up a hand. "Please, dear," she said patiently. "Remember-- _you_ don't lie. I've always known. And your father hasn't. It's been a strain on me, I don't mind telling you."

Jean shut her eyes, suddenly feeling very much alone and helpless. "How did you guess in the first place, Mom?"

"Oh, Jean--I'm not a fool, whatever anyone might think. And I know you so well--" She got out a handkerchief and blew her nose into it. "Jean--I remember Annie Richardson. I remember what Charles did to help you. Oh, he explained it in ordinary psychoanalytical terms--but I have eyes. I _saw_   what happened to you under his care. Your father did, too, but he preferred not to believe the evidence of his senses. Pseudo-scientific jargon suited him much better. But then, he _is_ an academic. I'm not--just an impressionable co-ed who fell in love with a graduate student. I could afford to see reality."

Jean did laugh this time. "Mom! I'm going to tell Dad you said that!"

"Oh, he knows, dear," Elaine said. "My opinions of his pretensions are known to him in excruciating detail. He just thinks I'm showing my relative lack of disciplined thinking. But whatever you call it, it's served me in good stead. I saw what happened to you after Annie. I _saw_ what Charles did for you. You buried that part of you--but I _knew_   it was there. Then came stories of 'mutants'. I wondered if it was possible... Then Charles came and took you to the School. Your father of course was inclined to trust Charles anyway, though he examined the School in as much detail as he could. He was puzzled, I admit, by the fact that there were only four students there. But he thought this was an indication of the School's quality--which of course it was, though not in the way he thought. Then the FBI came, and talked to the two of us. They were very low-key, no arm-twisting, and this impressed your father. So too did the call from Mr Hoover himself. In the end, he let you go with his blessing. As you remember."

"Yes, Mom, I do indeed," Jean said. "But I'm wondering--none of this made Dad suspicious? At all?"

Her mother shook her head. "Oh, no, dear. They were very convincing. Your father thinks that something hush-hush is going on. Which of course is true. But not in the way _he_   thinks."

"But you knew, Mom," Jean said. "You must have been relieved to see me go to the Professor. Or were you concerned for me?"

"I was both," she said. "Of course I was glad to see you under Charles' care. And of _course_ I was scared. No sooner do you go off to the School, than this monster Magneto attacks Cape Citadel. And lo and behold, the X-Men are there to stop him--with a red-haired girl exactly your age! And the others resemble your classmates in detail." Elaine Grey looked thoughtful. "Well, if I had any doubts at all, that silenced them. Of course I was concerned. But you were thriving there-- _that_ was obvious--and I figured Charles knew what he was doing. I still do."

"Thank you, Mom," Jean said, genuinely touched. "For believing in me. In my judgment. As a mutant--" she paused, smiled at her mother-- " _and_   as a woman."

"Jean--if I can't trust your judgment, I don't know whose on earth I _can_ trust. You're my equal--more than my equal. You already know things, have done things, I'll never really be able to understand."

Jean felt sad for a moment. This was true, and it would probably never change. Her family-- _all_   their families--had already become alien to them in some ways. The X-Men, the world of mutants, had become their realities. How much further would this process go, she suddenly found herself wondering?

"And Dad?" she asked her mother. "Why are you so concerned about him finding out about me _now_ , Mom?"

Elaine looked surprised. "Well, you _are_ all going to tell the world about yourselves, aren't you?"

Jean squeezed her eyes shut. This conversation wasn't happening. It couldn't be. She opened her eyes. "OK, Mom. How did you know _that?_   And please don't say, 'well, I know you, dear'."

Her mother looked uncomfortable. "I'm not quite sure how I know, Jean. I just _do._ Maybe some of your thoughts are being sent my way, without your knowing it--?"

Jean sighed. "Yeah, Mom. Maybe. And maybe not. Really--why?"

Elaine seemed a bit flustered. "I tell you, Jean--I don't know! Maybe because of all the attention this poor girl, Shift, is getting. What's she like, by the way?"

Jean counted to ten mentally. "Maria is a terrific person, Mom. She's been a terrible influence on me, I'm very pleased to say. Now, will you please get back to the point?"

"Of course, dear. Well, there was this poor girl who was clearly a member of your team, but just as clearly would never be able to go out with the rest of you among people. She'd have to be the X-Men's version of the Madwoman in the Attic." Jean almost, but not quite, burst into helpless laughter at hearing _this._ "And I just wondered, I suppose, how long Charles would let this situation with the girl go on. I know him, and it would prey on him. And I don't know...just from the tone of your letters, at least when you weren't trying to distract me from thinking about you and Scott, which of course was a waste of your time."

"Of course," Jean said hollowly.

"So it all seemed to make a pattern in my mind," Elaine said. "You were going to reveal your identities. And I knew when you came here for Christmas that you were going to tell us all about it now. It just made sense."

"Well, when you put it like _that-_ -" Jean chuckled. "Well, Mom, of course you're right in every particular. That's exactly what we're going to do."

Her mother nodded. "Fine. So: how are we going to tell your father about it?"

"He's not suspicious at _all?_ " Jean asked, genuinely curious. "He saw the same things that you did, after all--"

"Maybe subconsciously," her mother said. "But it's like I said--he's not in a position to see this clearly. Once he knows, he'll realize how blind he's been, and see that he's always known on some level. But it's going to be a bad shock to him, dear."

"Yes," Jean said slowly, biting her lower lip. "Yes, I see that, Mom."

"Indeed. So, Jean, we're going to have to be very understanding of him. He's such a child in a lot of ways." She smiled at her daughter. "But I will say one thing, Jean--I'd rather tell him about _this_ than about the other thing we talked about." To this, Jean could only agree.

* * *

The campus of Bard College was empty, the students home for the Christmas holidays. Jean wandered it almost alone. This college had always meant so much to her. Here was where her identity was forged, in so many ways. Her reactions to life, how she regarded the world, were products of the atmosphere of learning she had imbibed like mother's milk in this place.

She wandered underneath the bare elms and chestnuts, walking from one building to another, occasionally seeing a faculty member whom she knew and nodding to them. She was relaxed, and at peace. Dad had been happy to see her, and they had talked late into the night the day she arrived, but she hadn't wanted to tell him yet. Let them enjoy the holidays. Let them have this Christmas together--their last one in a state of innocence. There would be time.

She had left the house after lunch this day, the 23rd of December. The days she had spent here seemed golden. The "real" world--of mutants, of responsibilities, of unbearable choices that nonetheless had to be made--might not have existed. Even Scott might not have existed, and this brought her up short. Any world that didn't have _him_   was unreal. She looked around at the campus, and laughed to herself. This wonderful, golden cocoon was tempting. But she had emerged as a butterfly, and flew in glorious profusion of colors. There was no real going home again.

The library. Here was the place she loved the most as a girl, the place where there was everything, life, death, love, hate, the history of the world and of their species. She paused. That word--"species"--had the sudden strangeness that one sometimes felt with words you had known your entire life. What, exactly, _was_ her "species", anyway? What exactly was that accursed--or blessed--thing, _homo superior?_ As an X-Man, she didn't believe in mutant supremacy. But did she believe in mutant distinctiveness? In mutant destiny? In mutant culture, mores, even mutant civilization? It was remarkable how little she thought of these issues--except, perhaps, in opposition, primarily to Magneto, who had definite opinions indeed on all these matters. But what did they--she-- _positively_ believe in? Anything? And was thinking in those terms even healthy?

She entered the library, which was still open. It was almost deserted, a few students who lived locally doing some work, a couple of members of the public reading old magazines and books. She wandered the stacks. If the college was where her identity was forged, this library was where that process had been most advanced. So much of the world had revealed itself to her here! She wandered over every place she remembered. The English history section. English literature. American fiction. She could remember discovering Hawthorne, Melville, Hemingway, Fitzgerald...

There was more, so much more, and it was all still here. Yes, this had been a happy cocoon, she thought to herself. So much of her real education had taken place within its walls. And she turned a corner, and there was Mr Lawson, and she almost ran him over as he was exiting a stack.

"Oh, excuse me, Mr Lawson!" she cried out.

"Eh?" he said, looking hard at her with his glasses. "Why--Jean! Jeannie Grey! I'll be darned--it's been a long time. Welcome home!"

She laughed. "Mr Lawson"--she had never heard anyone use his first name, which she happened to know was Philo--had been a reference librarian here at least since the time of the First World War. He had no title other than "Reference Librarian", but he had more real influence than anyone else in the library, and maybe for that matter the whole campus. Generations of students had come to him if they needed to know anything, and he told them exactly where to go to find out for themselves. That was his job, to him--not to give answers, but to allow others to get their own answers. In doing that he was indefatigable. There was nothing about the library he didn't know, and seemingly nothing about any subject he couldn't put his finger on instantly. The other librarians, who had the strange notion that their job was to give answers, sometimes thought him eccentric, or even unhelpful to a student who just wanted to know, say, who the Speaker of the House was in 1899. But the students themselves worshipped Mr Lawson, and Jean owed to him much of her love of learning.

Mr Lawson was at least seventy-five, and should have been put out to pasture long before. But no one had the heart to tell him this, so he just stayed on, doing his job and influencing one generation of students after another. He had a toupe that covered his narrow head, and no one had the heart, either, to tell him that it looked grotesque. Certainly Jean wasn't going to be the one to start.

"Hi, Mr Lawson," she said warmly. "I'm just home for Christmas. How are things going?"

"Oh, all right, Jean, all right," he said. "Quiet, naturally." Naturally. Mr Lawson had no family. Jean had heard that once upon a time there had been a Mrs Lawson, but she had died in the Influenza Epidemic of 1918. So he had been a widower for 46 years. The library--and the students--were the only reason for his existence.

"Any Christmas plans, Mr Lawson?"

"Nope," he said with a smile. "Not a thing."

She impulsively put out her arms and hugged him. "Well, do _something_ nice for yourself, Mr Lawson."

He shrugged his spare old shoulders. "There isn't too much I want, Jeannie. I'm OK. How about _you?_ "

She smiled. "I'm all right, sir. I've made a big decision , and am dreading telling my father about it. Apart from that, my life is going well."

Mr Lawson looked very thoughtful for a moment. "Jean--I've known your father ever since he came here right after the War--the Second one, that is. This was before you were born. I think I know him."

Jean opened her eyes wide, and looked-- _really_   looked--at Philo Lawson. There had been something in his voice as he said that--!

Mr Lawson seemed to notice this, because he gave a chuckle and nodded his head. "Oh, yes, Jeannie. Your father and I aren't exactly friends--I'm not one for making friends, though I'm nice enough I guess. I've always just _been_ here, like the Library building and the furniture. But when you deal with someone year after year, and you have your eyes open, well--things add up. Let me tell you something about your father. He knows, understands, more than you think. Some men in this college are so wrapped up in their specialties that they can't see past 'em. Not John Grey. The world is a big, wonderful place to him." He peered hard at Jean. "And you take after him in that respect. Don't underestimate him, young Jeannie. He won't let you down."

Jean laughed out of sheer joy, hugged Mr Lawson again, thanked him profusely, and went out again into the late December sun of the Bard College campus. She practically flew home, she felt so upbeat. She was young, in love, and felt that she had made a fundamentally right decision along with people whom she loved. Things were coming together for her. Nothing was forever, nothing was guaranteed. God-- _she_ knew that, if anyone did! But today--today she was at peace.

* * *

Christmas at the Grey house was warm, festive, and lots of fun. There was laughter as John unwrapped a plaque, given to him by Jean, proclaiming that he was the world's greatest living authority on fly-fishing--an activity he had tried a few years before with a pronounced lack of success. Elaine Grey had laughed when her husband gave her a biography of Bing Crosby--a performer that Elaine had always had a particular aversion to. Jean laughed when her parents presented her with a Betty Boop doll, which she promptly threw at her mother, which sparked a running battle involving (nonbreakable) household items. The day continued in this affectionate pattern, Jean feeling happy and not too nervous. When they had late brunch, her mother made a motion to Jean with her eyes--their prearranged signal. Jean sighed. Well, here it was. She picked up the plates from the table, and as her father watched, telekinetically scooped up the milk bottle and walked, with it following her in mid-air, to the kitchen.

She reached the kitchen, and waited. For an explosion. For a primal scream. For anything. Total silence. She looked at her mother, and her mother looked at her, and they walked back to the dining room. Her father was holding a coffee cup, a puzzled expression on his face.

"I guess I'm sleepier than I thought," he said, looking at Jean. "Princess--I could have sworn that I just saw you--"

"Doing this?" Jean said, and his saucer rose up from the table and circled around his head a few times before settling down again in front of him.

"Yes," he said, but his voice was barely audible. His face went blank. He didn't move for several seconds, as Elaine and Jean waited for him to react.

He licked his lips. "Jean--are you doing that? Whatever it is?"

"Yes, Dad," she said slowly. "Yes, I'm the one doing that." And she levitated the salt shaker in front of his eyes, and placed it back down on the table.

"John," Elaine said softly and tenderly, "Jean is--special. I've known it for a long time. You know too. You _must,_ on some level."

"Special," John Grey said, looking at Jean with a growing expression of horror in his eyes. "Special." He shuddered. "My God--you're a _mutant?_ "

She sat down next to him. "Yes, Dad," she said, taking his hand and squeezing it. "Yes, I'm a mutant."

He disengaged his hand and put it over his face. "Oh, my God."

"Dad--I know you're shocked. But are you really _surprised?_ "

He seemed to come out of a stupor, and looked sharply at his daughter. " 'Surprised'?" he asked. "Why should I be surprised, Jean? Just because I've discovered that my daughter is someone who's a stranger to me? That my whole life has been a lie?"

"No, Dad, no! Your life hasn't been a lie. How can you say that! Yes, I've kept a secret from you. But is it _really_   a surprise? After Annie Richardson? And what followed? You saw all that. What did you _really_   think was going on, Dad?"

John Grey was silent for some time. "I don't know," he finally said. "Jean...Elaine...I have no idea _what_ I've been thinking all these years." He turned to look out the front window, looked out with vacant eyes. "I guess I thought that you were suffering from some particularly nasty schizophrenic state. But really..."

"Yeah, Dad," Jean said. " 'Really'. Did you really _know_   what happened to me when Annie died?"

"The specialists--they talked about sympathetic trauma--they used so many words..." And John Grey started to laugh. "Oh, my God! All those words! And really--really--" He started to laugh, an edge of hysteria to it. Elaine grabbed his hands and stroked them.

"John! John! Enough of this! We need you to stay strong. Jean needs you to stay strong. _I_ need you to stay strong. Our daughter is a mutant. _That_   is the reality. Nothing is going to erase that fact."

He looked sharply at his wife. "Elaine--you _knew?_ "

"Of course I knew! I've always known."

"You've always known." He frowned. "What about Charles? Does _he_   know?"

"You're not thinking, Dad," Jean said. "How do you think he cured me, anyway?"

A shiver ran through John Grey, a terrible stab of realization. "Oh--my--God," he said, looking at his daughter with a look of horror. "Oh God in heaven-- _you're Marvel Girl._ "

Jean nodded gently. "Yes, Dad. I am."

Ten minutes later, John Grey was lying on the living room sofa, a brandy in his hand, his head elevated, Jean giving him a telekinetic massage around his temples. His eyes were shut, but he was breathing normally. Finally, he opened his eyes and looked directly into his daughter's face.

"So you're one of the X-Men."

"Yes, Dad."

"And the others? Scott--?"

"Cyclops. And Warren--"

"The flying one. Naturally. And the kid, Drake--Iceman?"

A nod.

"And McCoy. The Beast." Another nod. "And this girl who doesn't look human? Shift?"

"Maria Gianelli, Dad. She's wonderful. You'll be meeting her soon."

"Oh, yes," he said, getting to his feet. "This mysterious meeting after Christmas. Well, I don't think another shock can harm me at this point. What's _that_   all about, anyway?"

Jean sighed, looked at her mother. John noticed their interaction. "Well, what is it?" he said with a trace of impatience. "I won't faint, I promise."

"Dad--this is why I've told you this now. We're going to abandon our secret identities. Go public."

Her father shut his eyes, as if this was unexpected but not able to wound him. "You are," he said carefully.

"Yes, Dad."

"May I ask why?"

"Of course. We feel that we're giving in to the mutant-haters. That by going about masked, we're saying that we're ashamed of who and what we are." Jean paused. "And practically, too, Dad, we're walking a tightrope. So many people already know, and their number is growing daily. We face exposure at any time. We didn't want to read about it in the papers first."

"No," he said carefully. " _That_ certainly wouldn't be a good thing, would it."

"Dad?" Jean asked. "Are you angry with me? Disappointed? Please--I've tried to do my best."

John Grey broke down in tears, and Jean and Elaine were there, hugging him and crying themselves. Finally, John disengaged himself and smiled gently.

"Elaine--Jean--I've had the worst shock of my life. I frankly don't know _how_ on earth I feel. Jean--" He shook his head. "I just don't understand it, how I can _know_ you as little as I apparently do. That you have a life that's totally unknown to me. That you're _this_   much of a stranger to me."

"Oh, Dad!" Jean cried. "I'm not a stranger to you! I'm _me!_ I'm who I've always been! Being Marvel Girl has just made me more of who I really am, that's all."

"The girl whom I've always loved, you mean, Princess?" he said, voice tearing up. " _That_ girl?"

"Yes, Dad! Oh, yes!"

"Then I'm proud of you," he said. "You've been out there, risking your life to protect us all. That's no more than I'd expect of you, Jean, and you've done that." He looked at Elaine. "You've always known, darling. Are _you_ proud of our daughter?"

"My God, John, you have to ask?"

"No," he said, looking deeply into Jean's green eyes. "No, I don't have to ask at all." And then father and daughter were in each other's arms, and saying things to the other about love and pride and forgiveness and all the other things that were on both of their minds.

They talked for a long time then--about Jean, her powers, the X-Men, Charles Xavier, the Brotherhood and their other enemies, everything about the real life Jean had been leading the past year-and-a-half. John and Elaine had endless questions, and Jean answered as many as she could--except for when John asked about Scott, with a smile. She avoided the question deftly, with the approval of her mother.

When they were finished, John leaned back and sighed. "And you want to go public, Jean."

"Yes, Dad."

"And Charles approves of this?"

"Yes, Dad. He was unsure at first, but he left the decision to us. Maria argued for it, and her arguments carried weight with us. Dr King agreed, incidentally."

"Did he, by God?" John said, and Jean could tell that this impressed him. He looked at his wife. "Are you ready for the world to descend upon us, Elaine?"

Her mother looked at Jean proudly. "I think so, John. I think we can stand being the parents of Jean Grey."

John looked at his daughter. "If you really think this is the right thing to do, Jeannie--"

"I do, Dad."

"Then I'll support you to the limit," he said. "I am proud of you, and I want the world to know of my pride. To know just how remarkable you are. It's funny. I thought I'd be angry at Charles, for keeping us in the dark. But I'm not. He had his reasons. Maybe they weren't sufficient ones, but maybe they were, too. And I have the funny feeling--maybe it's the season, I don't know--I have the funny feeling that it's _time_   for all this, that all this has happened as it should have."

"I agree," Elaine said. "I certainly feel blessed this holiday season."

Jean slept that night like the dead. The next day, the family was laughing and joking, even--especially--about the X-Men. John was particularly caustic, and Jean felt that he and Maria would get along just fine. She felt happier that holiday than she could ever remember being. Yes, the future _was_   a mist that couldn't be penetrated. But she felt confident of her ability to traverse whatever waters faced her.

Before going back to the Mansion, she went to Mr Lawson's small apartment near the campus with a cake she had baked for him. He was astonished to see it, and delighted, and thanked her profusely. She just laughed and wished him a happy holiday. For a sliver of her life, reality seemed like a movie with a happy ending. _I can't stay in this place. But it's good to be here, while I am._


	34. A Merry Little Christmas

Chapter Thirty-Four

* * *

Magneto thought to himself: _Well, it seemed like a good idea at the time..._

His force-field was under a fantastic, overwhelming assault. He had never imagined that power like this existed, could exist, on the earth. It was inevitably going to collapse soon, and he hadn't the slightest idea what he would do then. The blunt fact was, he was helpless. And that was unimaginable to him. He _couldn't_ be helpless. Yet here he was.

It had all started innocently enough. He had sent the rest of the Brotherhood out on a simple scouting mission. One, indeed, _so_   simple that not even _they_   could get it wrong. Just go out into the city and see if there were traces of the X-Men, of any activity of theirs. Apart from an enigmatic encounter with the Thinker, details of which he hadn't really been able to ascertain, the X-Men had been remarkably inactive in recent weeks. There were scattered incidents--the Iceman fighting alongside the Human Torch. The Angel encountering Iron Man. Cyclops and Marvel Girl encountering Killgrave, the so-called Purple Man, of all people--a renegade mutant who used his powers to control the will of others in order to make money and get his hands on human women. While Magneto had no particular moral qualms about such enterprises, he did regret the waste of mutant potential it entailed. Well, Killgrave had had his ass handed to him by the young couple, which came as no surprise to Eric Magnus Lehnsherr. The idiot had tried to get hold of Jean Grey for his harem. _That_   was a mistake he would never make again. The Beast had joined Spider-Man to hand another defeat to Kraven the Hunter. And there had been nothing about Shift at all--a remarkable fact, considering how the girl enjoyed seeing her name in the papers. Eric had decided, for good and sufficient reasons, to accept the girl's apology. But she retained her ability to get under his skin. He would have to keep that from happening. It would only weaken him, and strengthen _her._

In the event, he had sent the Brotherhood out to see if they could get any information concerning the X-Men--anything at all, in the usual places where information could be obtained in New York, both from human and mutant sources. Eric's list of underground contacts was almost as well-established as Charles' was, though he prided himself that _his_ were more of a secret to Charles, than Charles' were to him. So far, there had been nothing--not even a nibble. The X-Men seemed to be holed up in their Mansion. Waiting for--what? For _him_   to make a move? Eric had wondered...

And, in the simple act of watching television, he had had an idea. The Avengers had recently encountered Zemo and his so-called "Masters of Evil" yet again, and defeated them yet again. Eric had idly wondered if Zemo and Company regarded _their_   sobriquet with the amusement that Eric regarded _his_ \--the Brotherhood of "Evil" Mutants. A trick played by the media. But in watching television coverage of the latest battle, he suddenly found himself wondering about this being they called "Thor". The Norse God of Thunder, supposedly. As a good child of the Enlightenment, Eric naturally did not believe in the existence of thunder gods. Very well, then. That being the case, what was Thor, anyway? The other Avengers--Iron Man, Giant-Man and the Wasp, even Captain America--they were simply primitive attempts by humans to technologically mimic their mutant superiors. But Thor could not be classified in such a manner. Whatever he was, he was not _that._ Well, then--what else could he be, but a mutant? An exceptionally powerful one, who channeled his energy powers through his so-called "hammer". In addition to his prodigious strength, that made him immensely powerful--almost as powerful as _he_ was. As for the business of calling himself the God of Thunder--well, perhaps he was simply a mutant with a sense of humor. Eric could appreciate _that._ In certain circumstances, he might be capable of playing "god" himself, tossing around a few thunderbolts to awe the peasants. Perhaps it was as simple as that. He would communicate with this Thor, and they would talk, and Thor would let his hair down--there was a vision!--and tell him, Magneto, all about the confidence trick he was playing on the humans. And just maybe, he, Eric, could gain an invaluable ally, and balance the scales that had shifted--damn that word!--to the X-Men, when they had recruited the accursed Gianelli girl.

He had sent out magnetic impulses that he judged Thor would be able to respond to, with his "hammer". And indeed, the gambit had worked, because Thor had indeed appeared very soon. But Eric was flabbergasted when Thor denied being a mutant, indeed insisted on his being this so-called "God of Thunder". Eric had been disappointed, and did not hide the fact from the giant blonde mutant.

"You may play this game with the humans all you wish," he had said--and not particularly pleasantly, either. "Even with your so-called Avengers. But do not presume that you can play such games with _me._ I am power. I am Magneto. No mutant plays games with me."

"You speak of games," the giant had said. "I tell you, I _never_   play games. Certainly not with the likes of _you,_ in whom I smell an evil air. And I assure you, I am an expert at smelling out evil in men--or mutants, if you would prefer being called _that._ It matters not to me."

Had Eric been thinking a little more clearly, he would not have permitted what then happened to happen. Thor was not afraid of him. Not even intimidated by him. Not at all. This was a novel experience for him, and he was so puzzled by it that he didn't quite know how to respond. All humans--even those who might oppose him, like the Fantastic Four--felt awe in his presence. Other mutants either regarded him with fear and awe--such as his Brotherhood--or respect and awe, such as the X-Men. Even Shift felt _some_   awe in his presence, though she liked to pretend she didn't. But this one--! He felt nothing but a minor annoyance, as if Magneto had simply wasted his time. This infuriated Eric so much that he became angrier and angrier, and before he knew what had happened, they had begun to fight. And Eric knew instantly that he had made a mistake, for the good and sufficient reason that Thor was stronger than he was.

He could not credit this. It was beyond belief. He attacked, and attacked, and Thor barely moved, and parried his attacks. Then he pressed his own attack, and Eric was instantly overwhelmed. When on the brink of defeat, he had exploded everything he had at Thor, and escaped to lick his wounds. But then, an odd thing had happened: Thor seemed to disappear. Eric placed an energy zone around the area that he thought Thor had last been, and wondered if there was anything within the sphere. He sensed _something_ \--but it wasn't the immense power of Thor. All he saw was a gnarled walking-stick--where the hell had _that_ come from?--and the debris of the battle. And he had to face facts. Either there was a mutant manifestly more powerful than he was--which was impossible--or else, Thor was--what? What he claimed to be? Preposterous! Some sort of alien, then? But if that were true, then there were aliens stronger than he, Magneto, was. Stronger than _homo superior._ That, too, was unacceptable. Then what the hell was he?

It was at this moment in his musings that he was contacted by Wyngarde, on the two-way telescreen system he had devised. He flipped on the switch, and saw the wretched man, a look of panic on his face, desperately calling out to him.

"Thank God! Magneto--"

Eric cut him off. "Wyngarde! Have you found the X-Men!"

"Yes, yes! But they've found _us,_ too! They're coming for us!"

Eric shut his eyes. He had endured long, weary, endless months of one bungle after another by his so-called "Brotherhood." But he had to admit, Wyngarde was the worst. No one expected anything from the miserable Toad. Quicksilver was cool, ironic--and did what he did. Eric had no real complaints about Pietro. Wanda did what _she_   did, too--much to Eric's occasional chagrin. But she admittedly did not fully understand her powers, and he didn't, either. Given that, she gave him all she could. But Wyngarde! He thought himself a cut or two above the wretched Toynbee, did our Jason. And he never let the Toad forget it, either. And yet, when one came right down to it--the Toad at least could do _something._ He could hop. That was a physical measure of strength, small, infinitesimal, but at least it was _there._ What, exactly, did Wyngarde do? Produce illusions. Which invariably were smashed, exposed, reduced to nothingness. Leaving him, Eric, exactly where he had been before.

He opened his eyes. Best get this over with, then he could consider the delightful problem of dealing with Wyngarde. "All right," he said. "I'll be there soon. I know you're outnumbered, after all--"

"No, no," Wyngarde said. "It's only Cyclops and Shift, but still--"

" _WHAT?_ " Eric Magnus Lehnsherr had had a difficult day, and perhaps he already sensed that it was very shortly going to get much worse. Given that, his reaction to this news from Wyngarde was perhaps understandable. "You miserable idiots, can't you do _anything_ right? You dare to tell me that you're running in panic from just _two_   of the accursed X-Men!?"

"You shouldn't have said that, Wyngarde," he heard the Toad mutter off-screen. "He'll punish us all." But this time, Eric thought, the Toad was wrong. No, this time he would reserve his--judgment--for dear Jason. Jason Wyngarde would not bungle again for a very long time, indeed. Suddenly Pietro replaced Wyngarde on the screen.

"Magneto," he said briskly. "We are on West Twenty-Ninth Street, near the docks. Yes, our quest for information about the X-Men has resulted in our being stalked by the two most powerful members of that team. Where the others are, I have no idea. Do you wish us to stand our ground and fight? Battle is going to be joined before you can get here."

"Of _course_ I want you to stand and fight!" Eric snarled. "By God, we can't let our prestige go down the toilet _that_ easily! I'll be with you as soon as I can." He cut off the transmission, and looked over at the energy screen he had put into place. A hand was reaching out from it. It was searching for--what? The walking stick? Because it suddenly grabbed hold of it, and smacked it on the ground--

He barely had time to get his force-field up. Thor was on top of him, his hammer smashing against the force-field. Magneto was able to hold off the blows for a few minutes, even attempt to launch some counter-attacks, which Thor contemptuously thrust aside. Nothing Eric did seemed to affect this monster in the slightest. He almost sensed that Thor was _playing_   with him, letting him exhaust himself in fruitless attacks, then probing his field again with his hammer, weakening it more with every one of their thrust-and-parrys. What was he going to do, when the field collapsed completely?

* * *

Maria felt like Casper the Ghost, wandering around a nearly-empty Mansion. The Professor was preparing more lessons, more Danger Room sequences, doing the normal business of the School. He would do some reading when he had free time, and while Maria was an avid reader, she wasn't quite in the mood for books this Christmas. She was too nervous about what the upcoming pow-wows would bring, about the possibility of getting out of the Mutant Attic. She tried not to get her hopes up too much. What would be, would be.

Meanwhile, she and Scott continued their training in the Danger Room, and she had to admit she was really getting the hang of it. The Professor agreed, and told her after one session that she might have become the most adept of all his students in their training station. Her session this day had been a Puppet-Master-takes-over-the-FF scenario, in which she had to defeat the famous quartet without injuring them, because they weren't responsible for their actions. The Fantastic Four robots had been very sophisticated, and she had had her hands full--especially with the Invisible Girl robot, who somehow had actual force-field abilities. Maria finally had been able to break the field and disable the robot--something she didn't think would be so easy with the _real_   Sue Storm.

Scott seemed his usual self, but Maria sensed a nervous tension not too far from the surface. The poor boy--he had been having, after all, a quiet, but very intense, equivalent of a honeymoon, and now his lady love was gone. She wondered how Jean was dealing with it, up in Annandale.

Three days before Christmas, a mental summons from the Professor brought them to his study. "Scott, Maria," he said, "it seems that the Brotherhood is out in force again. They have been wandering New York, asking for information about _our_ activities."

Maria frowned. "Why doesn't Magneto just call us on the phone and ask?"

Charles Xavier smiled. "I hardly think that _that's_   what he's interested in, Maria," he said. "Our school schedule. He wants to know what we're doing as a team, what initiatives we might be engaging in."

Maria smiled. "Of course, sir," she said. "I did kinda realize that." Charles nodded, a smile on his face. "And for the record, sir--just what initiatives _are_   we engaging in?"

Charles shrugged. "Why, none, of course. Other than the obvious--the decision to abandon our secret identities."

Scott looked thoughtful. "Could _that_ be the reason for the Brotherhood activity, Professor? Maybe they've gotten wind of our decision, and are checking it out."

"Possibly," Charles Xavier answered. "That's the reason I want you two to go out and see what _you_   can find about the Brotherhood's activity. See if they _are_ asking about our secret identities. And if not, what they are interested in. What their game is."

Maria smiled eagerly. "Then you think I'm ready for action again, sir?"

"I do, Maria," the Professor said. "You've been loafing quite long enough."

"Hot diggity dog!" she cried out, raising a fist in triumph. "I couldn't agree with you more, sir!" The Professor's smile broadened a little.

"I'm delighted to find you in such good spirits, Shift. Let's hope it survives your actual taste of action."

Maria and Scott took the limo into the city that afternoon, and quietly began scouting out informants. The number of people who owed the X-Men--and the Professor--favors was surprisingly high, and the Professor had added a few people to the list before they left--last-minute additions that he advised them not to utilize before they had gone over the first batch of names. The process was long and tedious, and not finished that first night. Instead of returning to the Mansion, they spent the night in a "safe house" the Professor kept in New York, an apartment on East 67th Street. Maria slept in one bedroom, Scott in the other. Maria felt very glad, for once, that her secret had been revealed. There wasn't a hint of embarrassment between the two. _Good thing Jean_ _is_ _away,_ she thought drowsily to herself before drifting off to sleep--noting, much to her delight, that Scott snored like a Mack truck. There'd have to be _some_   way to use that against Jean...

Back to work the next day, and a piece of luck. One of Charles' informants, a newsstand dealer on Sixty-Third Street, had had a contact from the Brotherhood not twenty minutes before. They had apparently been under the impression that he was one of _their_   contacts, and the news dealer explained why they might think this. It was rather complicated--something about a cousin who had been rumored to be a mutant... In the event, the Brotherhood was heading for the lower West Side. Cyclops thanked him, and he and Maria got back into the limousine and calmly drove south on Broadway.

"Scott," Maria asked as they drove, "do you suppose the Brotherhood has the slightest idea that _we're_ stalking _them?_ "

Scott didn't change expression. "I doubt it, Maria. Why do you ask?"

"Because I'm imagining the looks on their faces when they _do_ know."

Scott was silent for a second. "It won't be easy, Maria."

"Maybe not," she answered. "But at least if Maggie isn't there, it won't be insurmountable."

"Maybe not." A pause. "Maria--I wouldn't be so dismissive of Magneto. I mean, using a diminutive nickname like that. _He_   wouldn't be pleased about it, I know. You've annoyed him enough as it is. He is _never_   to be taken lightly."

She thought about this. "You're right," she said. "Thanks. I needed that, as they say."

There was the slightest trace of a smile on Scott's face. "That's why I'm here."

Parking on Thirty-Second street, the two X-Men started walking south. The trail wasn't difficult to follow. Children rushed up to Maria--as they always did whenever she went out in public--telling them that the Brotherhood had just been there, and was heading south on Second Avenue. The two X-Men solemnly thanked them, and walked over to Second Avenue to follow the trail. Indeed, within minutes they could see a blur a block or so ahead of them--Quicksilver.

"What do we do when we reach them?" Maria asked. "Do we fight them? Politely ask what they're doing, asking questions about _us?_ Or do we _impolitely_   ask them what they're doing?"

Scott shook his head. "That depends on how they respond to our presence." And almost before the words were out of his mouth, Second Avenue suddenly took on the appearance of Dante's Inferno, with pools of fire and helpless souls screaming in the flames. Scott started, because one of the damned souls was Jean, in costume, beseeching him.

"Scott!" she cried out, voice choking in agony. "I died up in Annandale, just today! You haven't heard the news yet...it was a car crash...oh, Scott, it was so horrible, the agony, the flames...and now-- _these_ flames--so terrible here...must suffer them forever...please, please, join me...my love...we'll suffer here together..."

Scott looked at Maria, and Maria looked at Scott, and they burst into laughter. "God--Mastermind must be spooked badly, to come up with something as amateurish as _this,_ " Maria said. Scott didn't answer, just raised his visor at the "hell" where "Jean" was "suffering", and launched a short, sharp optic blast at it. The demonic regions disappeared, and a few garbage cans, blown out of their paths, were hurled at a very rattled Mastermind.

The green blur that indicated Quicksilver came right at Maria, and she swung and missed. Someone hopping--the Toad, and to her astonishment he landed a good, hard right hook to her face. It didn't hurt her, of course, but it did force her to blink and clear her head a moment. Before she could retaliate, Scott put him out of the fight with an optic blast. Maria looked around for Mastermind, who had apparently chosen the better part of valor and retreated far behind the Scarlet Witch. Quicksilver rushed at Scott and threw a number of punches at him before he could respond, and Cyclops was on his knees, almost out for the count. But Quicksilver made the mistake of coming back for the knockout punch, and Maria had him, opening up her hands to the size of a full human being, and Quicksilver ran right into them, and she closed her hands and the trap was sprung. Quicksilver hurled himself at her hands-trap, and Maria squeezed him, and she felt him go limp. _You'd think he'd learn,_ she thought. _That's how I got him last time._

"Pietro!" The Scarlet Witch called out, and ran up to Shift. Mastermind was still far back, seemingly wondering whether to just bolt the scene entirely. The Toad was still unconscious. Cyclops was still stunned, kneeling on the pavement. Maria looked at the Witch carefully. "Listen--there's no reason for this fight to continue," she said. "Just tell us why Magneto has you people out asking about _us,_ and we can all go home."

The Scarlet Witch considered this. "There was nothing of particular importance, Shift," she finally said. "He was merely curious why you people were so quiet as you've been. If _you're_ planning some initiative or another."

Maria smiled. "Well, now...maybe we are, and maybe we're not. Tell your Magneto to watch TV after the New Year. Maybe he'll find out."

The Witch smiled at this. "That does not sound so sinister."

"Oh, it's not," Maria said with a shrug. "Is that good enough for you, Wanda?"

The Scarlet Witch smiled. "It is, Maria." Neither girl mentioned the use of the other's first name. "If you would please let Pietro go--?"

"Oh, of course," Maria said, and Wanda was soon bent over her brother, getting him back into the land of the living. He soon rose to his feet, just as Cyclops was doing the same. The Toad, too, had recovered consciousness, and Mastermind had finally decided to carefully creep back to the others. Maria gave him a look of warning, and he shrunk back a little.

"Mastermind," Cyclops said, "I did _not_ appreciate that little stunt you pulled. Not at all."

The older man shrugged. "Well, when you're taken unawares you can't always be artistic."

"I guess not." Cyclops looked at Maria. "Then I guess this fight is over."

"Apparently so. We have no interest in Magneto himself?"

"No," Scott said. "Maybe if the others were here. Maybe if the truce wasn't in place."

" _Is_ a truce in place?" Quicksilver asked with interest. "I haven't heard anything official, as it were."

"Informally," Scott said. "The Professor has said that we won't go out of our way looking for trouble with you people, if you'll reciprocate. Today was more of a--misunderstanding."

Pietro nodded. "Indeed," he said. "We'll tell Magneto that." He gave them a curious look. "By the way--where _are_ the others?"

Maria smiled. "They're home with their families. It's really as simple as that."

"Indeed," Quicksilver said. "Well--Merry Christmas, X-Men."

"You, too," Maria said cheerfully, and she and Wanda looked at each other with some sort of understanding that Maria couldn't quite explain, but knew was real, nonetheless. _What on earth is_ _this_ _all about? Why do I feel that Wanda knows something nobody else knows?_

Scott and Maria returned to the Mansion, and reported to the Professor, who didn't seem to feel that much had changed either way with this tangential encounter. Still, Maria would have liked to have seen Magneto himself, just to see what _he_ thought about it all.

* * *

Magneto was lying almost unconscious in the wreckage of what had been a perfectly good underwater hide-out. Thor had destroyed his force-field at his leisure, and left him in this state, departing without a further word. It had been a bruising, utterly unmitigated defeat, such as Magneto had never experienced before. Certainly not at the hands of the X-Men. He neither knew nor cared anymore whether Thor was a mutant or not. Whatever he was, he was beyond Eric's ability to control him. If he _was_   a mutant, he was too powerful to be used for his, Eric's, profit. And if he wasn't a mutant--even if he was a damned "God"--he wasn't really Eric's concern. Maybe there would be revenge someday. Then again, maybe not.

His chief problem was recovering before the rest of the Brotherhood returned. He could not cover all of his tracks--for instance, it was obvious that a battle had been fought here. He would simply tell the truth--or some of it. The Avengers had attacked him here, in their undersea headquarters, and he, Magneto, alone, had driven them off. Yes--the simpler the explanation, the better.

He rose to his feet, aching and feeling like he had run a marathon. There--that didn't take long. The Brotherhood entered the hideaway, eyes popping at the scene of the fight. Well, at least they had escaped the X-Men-- _or two of them. Gods!_   He asked Quicksilver what had happened. When Pietro had finished, Magneto shrugged.

"Then nothing important has happened today," he said. "We're all back to square one, basically." He turned to Wyngarde. "Jason--I do believe we need to have a little chat very soon."

Wyngarde went deathly white. "Whatever you say, Magneto."

Eric nodded. "Quite so." He gave his explanation to the Brotherhood concerning the battle. "It was a draw, essentially," he said. "We are now of interest to the Avengers, as well as of course to the X-Men. This will complicate our lives." He shrugged. "So be it. In any event, _this_   headquarters is useless to us now. We shall move to the alternate quarters in Staten Island immediately. That is all."

He frowned. The others weren't responding quite as he had expected. Did they _doubt_   his word as to what had happened here? Well, never mind. He would have his "chat" with Wyngarde, and then they would all leave. The sooner the smell of this place was out of his nostrils, the better.

* * *

Wanda shut her eyes on the trip to Staten Island. Magneto was piloting their undersea craft, and the Toad was by his side, trying his best to be a "navigator". Pietro was openly napping, and Mastermind was sitting alone, eyes full of horror, speaking to no one, a fact that made Wanda very happy. Whatever Magneto had said to him, it had made an impression. Good.

But once the trip was well underway, Wanda's thoughts concentrated on the large, strange-looking mutant whom they had fought today. _Shift._ Something had happened today between them, something Wanda did not understand. They were _bonded_   somehow. She didn't know what it was about, but she couldn't ignore the evidence of her hex power. She hadn't used it in the battle today, and for only one reason--if she had, something would have _happened_ to Shift. Again, she had no idea what that would have been. But the fact was clear. She recalled that day in Hell's Kitchen. How she felt that she could have "erased" the other girl. What did this mean, anyway? One thing was sure--she could mention nothing of this to Magneto. Or even to Pietro. Once more her thoughts went to Charles Xavier. Perhaps _he_ could figure out what was happening.

Wanda finally did doze off, afraid of her power, afraid of Shift--or was she afraid _for_   her? And could she tell the difference, anymore?

* * *

Scott, Maria, and the Professor had a quiet Christmas together. They had a celebration planned after the others came back to the School, so the day itself was low-key. They did give each other small presents--Scott gave Maria a blue turtle-neck sweater, assuring her that blue was her color. Maria expressed astonishment that anyone could think _she_   had any "color", but put the sweater on, and Scott thought she was pleased by it. She gave him some comedy records--Bob Newhart, Bill Cosby, Jackie Mason--telling him to listen and maybe, just maybe, he'd develop a sense of humor. Scott accepted them bemusedly, but with a good spirit, privately doubting if he believed in miracles of _that_ magnitude. The Professor gave Scott a copy of Sun Tzu's _The Art of War,_ telling him that if he was going to be a leader, this is the book that would help make him one. He gave Maria some volumes of Dr Asimov's science essays, which she accepted with an enigmatic smile that Scott couldn't quite understand. He had given the Professor some pipe tobacco, and Maria had given him the soundtrack LP to _Singin' in the Rain,_ which genuinely seemed to touch the Professor.

The evening of Christmas day, the Professor called Scott into his study for a talk. Scott sat down on the small sofa and crossed his legs, waiting for the Professor to begin. After fidgeting with his pipe, he did so.

"Scott--it's been an extraordinary year for all of us."

Scott smiled slightly. "I should think so, Professor."

Professor Xavier shrugged. "I can't really explain it. When 1964 began, you were all _so_   much younger than you are now, I scarcely recognize any of you. Not even Robert. You had encountered Magneto already, and the Vanisher and the Blob. You had just, along with everyone else, suffered the trauma of the assassination of the President. But you were all still children, Scott--even you. Then we encountered the Brotherhood, and Shift joined the team, and you and Jean found yourselves in love, and somewhere along the way I came to realize that you were all adults. Young adults, of course, green as peas, inexperienced--but adults all the same. I had a shock of almost physical intensity the day Maria joined us, because Jean took charge of things, and I knew that she _should_   be taking charge. It is much the same for all of you. A year ago, it wouldn't have occurred to me that you, or anyone else, could be the 'team leader'. Now, it seems inevitable. I am very proud of you all."

"Thank you, sir," Scott said in a quiet voice. The Professor smiled at him.

"Oh, Scott--you are naturally a humble man, in the true sense of the word. But do not take this too far. You are also an extraordinary man, one who holds the future of mutantdom in your hands. The day will come when everyone will see the truth of that."

Scott felt uncomfortable being praised like this. "That seems--hard to believe, Professor."

"Nonetheless, Scott, it is true. I _know_ this, if I know anything. And there is also this simple fact--you have won the love of Jean Grey. _That,_ in and of itself, is all anyone needs to know about the manner of man you are."

Scott was very quiet for a few moments. Then: "Thank you, sir."

Charles Xavier shrugged. "Of course, there are setbacks. I have not done well by you in many ways, Scott. I have not been able to help you control your optic blasts--and I assure you, son, it isn't for lack of effort. But I prefer to remain quiet about those efforts until I'm able to report some success, rather than have you be constantly disappointed."

"Thank you for that, sir."

The Professor grunted. "And I still have no progress to report concerning your brother, Alex. _He_   seems to have disappeared off the face of the earth."

Scott's heart skipped a beat, or so it seemed. "I'm grateful for your efforts," was all he could bring himself to say.

"That is a good thing for you to say, Scott. It does not disguise the fact of failure."

"Sir--you could never fail us."

"Ah, Scott--if only that were so." He paused, and took a puff of his pipe. "This is interesting, by the way, Scott--your old orphanage in Nebraska has been abandoned. As if someone just removed everybody and everything, leaving only the facade."

Scott frowned. "Sir? What on earth does that mean?"

"I'm not sure, Scott. But it gets even more interesting. Because I have recently learned that some time ago--but still well _after_ the orphanage was deserted--it had some visitors. None other than Magneto, and the entire Brotherhood."

Scott was stunned, and showed it. " _Magneto?_ "

"Indeed. And the rest."

"What on earth did _they_ want there?" Scott paused, and thought furiously. "Professor--could they have been looking for _Alex?_   Is it possible?"

Charles Xavier smiled at Scott appreciatively. "Good, Scott! Very good! That is an excellent question, and I wish I knew the answer to it." He paused. "Scott--does the name Essex ring a bell to you? Any bell at all?"

"Essex," Scott said slowly, rolling the name over his tongue. "No...no, wait! Yes, sir, I think it _does._ But why, or when--I couldn't even begin to tell you."

The Professor grunted. "That is not a good thing, Scott--if you _have_ heard of him. I am afraid that as time goes on, you shall, and quite unambiguously."

"Who is he, sir?"

Charles Xavier sighed. "A devil, in the shape of a man. Or, perhaps, a man in the shape of a devil. He is _not_ a mutant. But that doesn't matter." He shook his head. "Never mind. If the time comes when you need to learn more about him, then I shall tell you." He looked out the window. "I am tired, Scott. I believe I shall go to bed. Good night."

"Good night, sir." Scott went up to his room, and listened to some Bob Newhart for awhile. To his astonishment, the dry, tongue-in-cheek humor appealed to him. He even found himself chuckling a couple of times. What would Jean think!

After awhile there came a knock on the door. He opened it, and Maria was there in a bathrobe, holding a package. "Could I come in, Scott?"

Scott nodded. "Certainly, Maria." He let her pass, and she sat down on the edge of the bed. "I have one last little present for you--and Jean, too, for that matter." She handed him the package. "I didn't want to bore the Professor with trivia like this."

He took the package, and opened it. It turned out to be a large box of Trojans. He licked his lips, stared at Maria unbelievingly.

"Merry Christmas, Scottie," she said with a wicked smile on her so-called face. "Use them in good health."

"Maria--what--?"

"Oh, please," she said with a wave of her hand. "We're grown-ups here. I know you guys have been careful--well, you can keep on being careful."

He put the package down, and took a deep breath. "Would you please explain to me, Maria Gianelli, just _how_   on God's green earth you managed to get hold of _these?_ "

Her wicked smile just got broader. "I have my methods, Watson."

Scott put his head in his hands. "Oh, my God," he said. "Maria--I don't know what to say."

"How about, 'thank you'?"

He laughed. "OK, then--thank you! From me--and Jean."

"That's better." She got up, and for a moment was very serious indeed. "Scott--"

"Yes, Maria?"

"--You take care of her. That's all, you hear me? You take care of her. If you _ever_ hurt her, for any reason, you're going to answer to me. Is _that_   understood?"

Scott looked at Maria, and she looked at him. "Absolutely," he finally said.

"Good." She went to the door. "Merry Christmas, Scott."

"Merry Christmas, Maria."

* * *

Nathaniel Essex, being a busy and practical man, had no truck with such things as Christmas. Why should he waste time for something so useless as a "holiday"? There was work to do. There was always work to do. But for now, just as a relaxation, he was devoting just a little time to gloating over his own cleverness. An indulgence, yes, but if he had to spend time over the holiday season relaxing, this was the way he wanted to do it.

Things were going smoothly. Over a century of plotting, of manipulating blood lines and stupid human beings--and equally stupid mutants. All reaching the pay-off, the Promised Land he had been anticipating for longer than even the oldest people had been alive. Yes, there had been the recent setback involving the so-called Mad Thinker. He had given the miserable fool ten million dollars to get hold of Jean Grey's power matrix. He knew the Thinker would approach Forge, and that Forge would do the job. Using cut-outs of cut-outs had been a ponderous and clumsy way of going about matters, but Essex didn't want even the possibility of anything being traced back to him.

He leaned back. It was getting harder and harder to cover his tracks. In the old days of ledgers and paper trails, it had been child's play. But now, there were computers and increasingly sophisticated methods of identification. Soon, DNA and voice identification and satellite photography would make it harder than ever. And the computers would just get smarter and smarter. He remained well ahead of the curve, of course, but he wondered how long this state of affairs would continue.

Essex sighed. It had been foolish of him, to have depended upon such a thin reed as the Thinker. This toy of his, this "Madelyne". He stirred. There was something about the name that appealed to Essex. Perhaps because it brought back delicious memories of Madeleine Smith, the Glascow poisoner who had been acquitted of murdering her lover. How he had relished _that_   little drama, just as so many had back in the mid-Victorian era! He had even considered, after Apocalypse turned him into the man called "Sinister", using the Smith girl for his own purposes. But in the end, he couldn't find any real use for her, much to his regret. But the name had always lingered in his memory.

In any event, the Thinker's Madelyne had been a total failure. Was that because of the Thinker's incompetence, or something--some essence in the Grey girl--that was too much for _any_ android to absorb? Maybe a little of both. The Thinker didn't appear to be too annoyed by that failure--perhaps because it hadn't really been _his_ money, Essex thought bemusedly. Thank God for Swiss banks. If you had a hundred years to stockpile resources there, the interest alone-- Well, Nathaniel Essex could afford to waste ten million dollars on a failed scheme. Indeed--many, many times that amount.

He of course had samples of Jean Grey's DNA, as he did of every known mutant. And in the not-too-distant future, he would use that DNA ruthlessly. _Clones._ Such an advancement over androids, at least as much as androids were over robots. He wasn't there yet. But he knew the road to getting there. It wouldn't be long now. Meanwhile, the alliance with the Thinker had seemed such a logical step. Both experts in biology, in different ways. He, Essex, fascinated with mutations, and working on the glorious future of cloning. The Thinker, basically indifferent to mutants, but fascinated with artificial life, androids. And an expert on these interesting new toys called computers. Their expertise complemented each other. Essex had thought it would be a useful alliance.

But in the event-- He sighed. The Thinker was, indeed, mad. Just what his ultimate goals _were_   was a mystery that Essex hadn't been able to fathom. He was increasingly unconcerned about the matter. This alliance, he thought, was nearing the end of its usefulness. Had the Thinker been able to get Jean Grey's power matrix, well, that would have been one thing. Yes, he had her DNA. But she was so vital to everything-- He shook his head. The power matrix would have answered many questions, and saved a great deal of time. Well, it hadn't worked, and that was that.

There was a buzz. His telescreen--! Only a very few individuals indeed could call him on that, and he wasn't expecting any communications from any of them. He pushed the button-- Well, well. Speak of the devil. The Thinker appeared in his field of vision.

"Essex," he said without preamble. "I'm delighted you're available. Positively delighted."

Essex considered. The Thinker, when push came to shove, just might be capable of causing trouble for him. The tart retort that had been on his lips remained unspoken. Be courteous, and maybe the trouble could be postponed for another day.

"Well, I am here, Thinker," he said. "Is there anything I can do for you?"

"My dear Essex," the Thinker said with a smile that Nathaniel did not like, "it is not a question of what you can do for me. It is rather what _I_   can do for _you._ "

"Oh?" Essex said, already not liking the way this conversation was going. "What do you mean?"

"Have you been paying much attention to the X-Men, dear fellow, since that unfortunate setback to our mutual plans?"

Essex shrugged. "Not really. Most of them have gone home to their families for the holidays. What of it?"

The Thinker laughed, loudly and appreciatively. "Oh, better and better! My dear Essex--that is the point. They _have_ gone back to their families. Combined with certain other data I have discovered, I recently did a computer simulation as to what it all just might mean. And you know, the computer gave me an 88.64 per cent estimate that the X-Men have decided upon a certain course of action."

Essex stirred, feeling slightly uneasy. This lunatic was so obviously enjoying what he was leading up to...and probably because he felt that it would be a blow to _him._ Well, let him enjoy his fun. Whatever it was, it couldn't effect his, Essex', plans. They were too well-laid for that. "So," he asked, "just what _is_   this course of action, anyway?"

The Thinker smiled with sheer malicious delight. "Oh, it's simplicity itself, Essex. They're going to abandon their secret identities and go public."

Essex heard the words, but didn't really register them. They were too fantastic, too unbelievable, to have really been uttered. Then he saw the gloating face of the Thinker, watching to see the effect this intelligence had on him, and he suddenly knew it was true. "No," he said slowly, then building up speed. "No, no, no, no, no..."

The Thinker's smile just increased in its maliciousness. "Oh, my dear fellow, I fear that it _is_   so. 88.64 per cent so, to be exact."

"No!" Essex got out of his chair, stared aghast at the telescreen and the gloating countenance of the miserable Thinker. He fumbled with the controls, and finally was able to cut the transmission off, so at least he wouldn't have to see, hear, the contemptible little man and his gloating. He started throwing things around the room, and realized with a bitter laugh that he was panicking, having indeed something approaching a nervous breakdown. " _NO!_ "

He collapsed back into his seat, his hands covering his face. Over a century! A century of work, leading up to this culmination. And now all of it jeopardized by a Quixotic gesture on the part of Xavier and his damned students. My God--didn't they _realize_ what they were doing-? All his plans depended on the basic parameters of the X-Men remaining stable. That they would stay to themselves, and _not_ expose their miserable "secret" identities to the world, letting God knows who examine them, question them, learn their secrets and mysteries and past histories. My God--this might even lead someone back to _him._

Wild schemes went through his mind, each one unlikelier than the next. An alliance with Magneto to crush the X-Men immediately before they could do this? But why would Magneto ally himself with _him?_ Indeed, the damned Lehnsherr was searching Essex out, with the avowed purpose of crushing him. He was far more of an enemy than Xavier was. En Sabah Nur? Patch up _that_   ancient alliance? But why would _he_ care? And could Essex really go through the ordeal of grovelling at the old monster's feet, which would be his price for even discussions of an alliance? Who else? Shaw? He lacked the power. Dr Doom? He would insist on being the senior partner, and besides, why would _he_ care, anyway? He found himself reduced to considering an alliance with Trask, to launch the Sentinels against the X-Men _now_ to forestall this scheme of theirs. It was almost five minutes before the utter absurdity of such a notion became _so_ obvious that he was forced to stop fantasizing about it.

He was almost shaking in his chair, he was so upset. The joke was on him! And then, suddenly, he realized what this was all about. _Shift._ This was _her_   work. He had underestimated the wretched girl. "You damned-- _freak!_ " he called out to the air, which merely mocked him with its silence. _She_ had changed the whole dynamic of the X-Men. And it had taken him too long to recognize this fact.

He strode up and down the room, thinking and discarding impossible schemes. My God--there was nothing he could do. Everything would have to be re-examined in the light of this. This might set him back ten years. Maybe longer. Maybe for good, if he wasn't careful. But he knew one thing--the wretched Gianelli girl would pay. Oh, how she would pay.

 _You and I have unfinished business, Maria,_ he thought to himself. _Scott and Jean are no longer my chief concern._ _You_ _are. And that will not be good news for you._

* * *

And in a quiet, dark room somewhere, a figure was laughing out loud, watching Essex' discomfiture on its own telescreen--but one far more advanced than his own. _Oh, my! This has been more fun than even_ _I_ _had anticipated!_ The figure finally broke off the transmission. It had had its fun, and didn't need to see anymore.

The figure went to the window, and looked out at the winter scene. The Berkshire Mountains stretched as far as the eye could see, far to the north from its vantage point, towards the Vermont border. It loved this spot. Isolated, beautiful--but not _that_   far from civilization, if its dubious benefits were ever needed. This spot had become home.

_Soon, things will start to accelerate. In every way. Once their identities are public, everything will speed up. They will not recognize their lives. And poor Maria. She will get what she always thought she wanted. Will she appreciate it, I wonder?_

It was time, the figure realized, that it started taking a more direct role in events. With events accelerating, things could no longer be permitted to drift. There had been small changes, here and there--Doom and his robot, and more significantly, Magneto. But now--well, things were moving. In the right direction, the figure thought. But the pace needed to be picked up. The Stranger was important here. Once the figure knew how _that_   would turn out-- But still, it need not wait for that, either. It had an idea...

It was tired now, though. It would be a pleasure to see 1964 go. Increasingly, it was convinced that 1965 would be the year of decision, when its failure or success would be determined. This was years earlier than it had thought it would be, but it was true all the same.

_So be it. It's actually good news. Get it over with, one way or another. I'm ready._


	35. Many Meetings

Chapter Thirty-Five

* * *

Frank Gianelli visited the Mansion the day after Christmas, and he and Maria had a good visit. He bucked up her courage, and had dinner with Scott, Maria, and the Professor. The next day the others were returning with their families, and Maria took a long time getting to sleep that night. In a sense, her real life would begin tomorrow, and she couldn't decide if she dreaded it or anticipated it more.

She did oversleep a little, but the Professor pretended not to notice. She was so nervous she wasn't able to eat, and the Professor was perceptive enough not to make matters worse by commenting on it. Finally, shortly after noon they heard a car drive up, and Maria looked out. Her heart sank a little--it was the Worthingtons. She had been hoping that they wouldn't be the first to arrive, but there Warren was, helping his parents with their luggage. Maria sighed, took a deep breath, and walked out into the driveway to volunteer her services.

"Hey, Blondie," she said in a mock-hearty tone that disgusted her even as she spoke the words. "Need a hand?"

"Perfect timing, babe," Warren said, leaning over and kissing her on the cheek. "Here--there's about eight suitcases here--" For a three-day stay! Maria supposed this was how the very rich travelled-- "--and I figure we can load them onto you. Like a gurney." Maria sighed theatrically, and morphed her right arm out to, indeed, resemble a luggage gurney. Meanwhile, Warren's parents just stood there, looking closely at her. Kathryn seemed to be deciding just what her feelings regarding this apparition should be, and Warren Junior smiled at her as if she had been a travelling clown--which, for all she knew, was how he regarded her. Oh well--be nice. They were still dealing with some very troubling new realities. _She_   would be on her best behavior.

"Hi, folks," she said with a wave of her left hand, as the right hand--and arm--supported their luggage. "I'm Maria Gianelli. If it's OK with you, I'll just take this stuff right up to your room. Would you like me to show you, Mrs Worthington?"

Kathryn snapped out of her indecision, and smiled warmly at Maria. "Oh, yes, of course!" she turned to her husband. "If you'll excuse me, Warren, I'll accompany Maria upstairs."

"Oh, by all means," Warren Junior said, in a tone so icy that even his son noticed, and frowned at him. But his father turned on his heels and marched into the Mansion, and Warren turned to Maria and shrugged. Maria just smiled.

"It's going to be an adjustment, Warren, " she said, and Kathryn, next to her, nodded vigorously.

"Please, dear, don't mind my husband," she said, walking quickly next to Maria as they entered the Mansion. "This has been _such_   a shock to him, you know, and of course it's been a shock to _me,_ as well. Dear Warrie! Imagine _him_ being a mutant!" She looked appreciatively around her in the front hall, as the Professor--finished with greeting Warren's father--rolled his chair up to Kathryn. "Mrs Worthington," he said graciously, extending his hand. "I'm very glad indeed that you and your husband could make it. This will be an historic gathering, I'm sure."

That thought seemed to puzzle Kathryn Worthington for a moment. "Historic?" she said, almost to herself. "Well--I suppose it _is,_ when you come right down to it. I mean, I haven't been able to think about the larger issues, I suppose you could call them. I haven't been able to get the fact of it--about Warrie, I mean--out of my head. And worrying so about him! As a member of your team." She looked at Maria. "Well, let's let the gentlemen go do their thing, and you can show me our room, dear."

Maria trudged upstairs, luggage still balanced on her expanded right arm, Kathryn trailing in her wake. "I'm _so_ glad to meet you, Maria," the latter said. "Of course, I've been curious--Warren's comments about you were so...elusive. And then of course when he told us, I understood _everything._ So _you're_   the famous Shift!"

"The one-and-only," Maria said, leading Kathryn into a large guest room in the corner of the girl's wing. Kathryn gave some careful praise to the room, while Maria unloaded the luggage. After the suitcases were put away, she asked Kathryn if there was anything else she could do.

"Oh, no, dear," Kathryn Worthington said, walking up to Maria and looking closely at her face. "You know," she said, putting a hand up to her cheek and touching it gingerly, "you have something about you that's just uniquely _you._ And I don't just mean the superficial aspects of your--well, I suppose your mutation. Maria--you _carry_ it all so well. You do better with--it--than I certainly would have."

Maria felt obscurely touched by Kathryn's statement. "Thanks, Mrs Worthington," she said. "I really do appreciate that. Though it's not as if I've had a lot of choice in the matter."

"Maybe not," the other woman responded. "And please--it's Kathryn."

"Thank you--Kathryn."

"Certainly, my dear. And by the way, don't let Warren-- _my_   Warren--intimidate you. I'm afraid he enjoys doing that sometimes, but after all, it's _you_   who's the mutant, not him. _He_ should be intimidated by _you._ "

Maria laughed out loud. "I'm not really an intimidating sort of gal, Kathryn."

"Oh, I don't know," Kathryn said with a slight smile. "I have the feeling, dear, that if you were human--" She stopped, put a hand over her mouth. "Oh, I'm sorry! You know what I mean!"

Maria reassured her. "I know _exactly_   what you mean, Kathryn."

"Thank you, dear...don't mind me... Anyway--if you _were-_ -you know--I feel you'd be quite as formidable as you seem to be now."

Maria didn't respond to this, perhaps because she secretly agreed with her. Then she heard the sound of another car coming up the drive.

"Oops--gotta go and do redcap service again, Kathryn."

"You go right ahead, Maria," Kathryn said. "I'll just freshen up a bit." Maria ran down the stairs, and got to the front door just as Bobby was letting his mother out of the front seat. William Drake was already standing by the car, and he gave Maria a very intense stare indeed as she walked up to the car.

"Bags, anyone?" she said, extending her right arm again to receive them. Bobby laughed.

"I think I can manage, Maria. Me and Dad."

William nodded vigorously. "That's right, Miss," he said. "But I thank you for the offer. At least Xavier teaches his students good manners."

"That--and a lot more," she said. She reached out with her back-to-normal hand. "A pleasure, Mr Drake. I'm Maria Gianelli."

He took the hand, and she felt him rubbing it, getting the texture and shape of it. "William Drake," he said. "And I must admit, Miss Gianelli--"

"Maria, sir. Please."

"--Maria--I must admit, _I'm_   pleased to meet _you._ I wasn't sure I would be, and I'm not quite sure why I felt that way. Maybe because I'm so angry about all this that I assumed I'd forget my manners. I hope you'll excuse my saying that."

"This has been a terrific shock for all of you," Maria said carefully. William Drake snorted.

"You could say so." He looked Maria up and down. "But right now, seeing you, Maria--I'm finding myself rethinking my position, at least a little. It's one thing for Bobby to say, folks, I'm a mutant. He's still Bobby, still our son, and he doesn't look like--well, like Iceman--unless we want him to--which I assure you, we don't. But _you._ You _look_   like a mutant."

She raised her arms above her head. "I am what I am, Mr Drake."

"Yeah. And you _are_ real. This _is_   all real." He shook his head vexedly. "It's almost been like a dream. But here--well, it's _true._ And since it _is_ true..." He looked carefully at Bobby. "I don't know, boy. Maybe I won't sue after all. It depends on what Xavier has to say for himself."

Maria made a silent "sue?" to Bobby with her lips, and he just shrugged. Meanwhile, Maddy Drake walked up to Maria and put out her hand.

"Hello, you poor thing, I'm Maddie Drake, and of course I've heard so _much_   about you but seeing you well there's no substitute for that the real, actual experience is all I can say and my God, how _do_   you deal with your hair can you even _brush_ it poor thing and how do you find clothes to handle that figure of yours I mean, it _is_ out of kilter, isn't it, we can agree on _that_   and I'll try to see what I can do for you and maybe it's a good thing you aren't wearing a skirt and I'm just Maddie by the way ignore my brute of a husband he doesn't have the manners of a bear and isn't this amazing?, I mean the truth about Bobby I was _hysterical_   when I heard I was so scared about him but seeing _you_ makes me feel better because frankly dear you look pretty formidable and having you with him when he goes into battle--"

Bobby gently put his hand over his mother's mouth. "Mom--" he said, in an affectionate but warning tone. Maddie Drake stopped and turned red.

"I'm doing it again, aren't I?" she said shyly, turning to Maria. "Oh, my dear, you have to just shut me up when I do that, like Bobby did."

"I wouldn't dream of it!" Maria said, as she took Maddie by the arm and led her into the house, following William and Bobby carrying the luggage. "It's like Niagara, Maddie. Being underneath it is bracing."

" 'Bracing'!" Maddie said with a laugh. "Will you listen to the girl! Bill, she _is_   very nice, isn't she?"

"I'll grant you that," her husband said, entering the hall and shaking hands--reluctantly--with the Professor. Scott helped Bobby to carry the luggage upstairs, and Maria watched as the Professor and William Drake spoke briefly.

"We have a lot to say to each other, Professor Xavier," William said. "I mean, a _lot._ "

"I quite agree, Mr Drake," the Professor said. "When you're settled, we can speak then."

Drake nodded, and followed his son upstairs. Maddie shook hands with the Professor.

"Well, Professor Xavier, I'm afraid that I didn't take the news particularly _well._ I mean, not well at all."

"I can well understand that, Mrs Drake."

Maddie smiled at Maria. "And _this_ girl--she's really something, isn't she? I mean, seeing her on TV just doesn't prepare you for--well, for the _reality._ "

"Maria is certainly unique," the Professor said, and Maria smiled to herself at the pride she heard in his voice. She was just about to accompany Maddie upstairs when she heard another car drive up.

"Sorry, gotta go," she cried out to Maddie, who just laughed and waved her off. Maria got out front just in time to see the Greys drive up. Jean was out of the back seat like a flash, and she and Maria were in each other's arms, hugging and kissing and carrying on disgracefully and without a shred of dignity.

"Merry Christmas, Red!"

"You too, you freak!"

"How was my long--lost hometown of Annandale, anyway?"

"Great! How was a holiday without _me?_   Dull as dishwater, I'll bet!"

"Absolutely dead! We have to make up for it! How much trouble do you want to get into, anyway?"

"As much as we can!" And there was more along these lines, until Maria broke off, clearing her throat to look at Jean's parents, who were beaming at her like she was a long-lost daughter.

"Oh--hi, Mr and Mrs Grey. Excuse me. I'm just waiting for my brain surgery, and meanwhile I _do_   carry on like this-"

John Grey laughed--a long, clear laugh of genuine humor. "Miss Gianelli--"

"Maria!"

"--Maria, then. I'm John, and this is Elaine, and let's be clear about _that._ "

"It would be an honor, John." He came over, and Maria hugged him. Then Elaine came over, and the hug was repeated.

"Maria--it really is true that I feel I know you. Jean has spoken _so_   much about you--"

"I hope she hasn't told the truth."

"I'm afraid so," Elaine said with a smile. "You know how honest Jean is."

Maria gave a theatrical sigh. "Oh, indeed I do." At that moment Scott appeared, and Jean calmly walked over to him and took his hands in hers, and he leaned over and kissed her on the cheek. And the simple fact of that, Maria thought, was more erotic than a year's supply of _Playboy_   would be--that is, if she had any yardstick by which to tell. She was guessing, but judging by the color John Grey turned, she thought she had guessed correctly. They walked over, hand-in-hand, and Scott smiled at Jean's parents.

"Mr Grey," he said. "Mrs Grey. Merry Christmas, and it's a pleasure to see you two again." Maria admired the quiet assurance of Scott in that moment, considering that he was probably as nervous about this meeting as she had been earlier that day. Nothing was said, nothing had to be said, just the fact was sufficient. Seeing Jean with Scott was as natural to Maria's eyes as seeing two eagles together in the wild. It was simply _inevitable._ And John Grey seemed to sense this, because he smiled and said hello to Scott, and turned to his wife with a very odd expression indeed on his face, which Elaine responded to with a kiss on his cheek.

"Well, let's go in," John said quietly. "I'm anxious to see Charles." And indeed, the Professor was there, and welcomed his two old friends, and they talked for a few minutes, and meanwhile Maria, Scott, Jean, Bobby, and Warren went into the dining room to compare notes and wish each other a Merry Christmas. Warren shrugged at Maria, and apologized for what he called his father's "eccentricities", which she just waved off.

"Hey--considering that he's a bloated exploiter of the working masses, he's about what you'd expect." Warren laughed, and agreed with this assessment.

Finally, the last car arrived, and Hank ushered Edna and Norton McCoy out. Maria was already there, ready for the luggage, and this time her help was accepted. Edna's eyes opened like saucers at the sight of her.

"Oh, my!" she said. "I thought--well, Miss Gianelli, I thought that what they said about you was, well, exaggerated."

Hank shut his eyes, but Maria laughed. "I'm afraid not, Mrs McCoy," she said. "I'm exactly as I've been reported."

"Please, don't think I was being rude," Mrs McCoy said. "This is still so new to us. But Hank--well, _he_ wasn't like the others, either. And he's a fine boy, a good boy. And so smart--! Even if he wasn't a mutant, he'd be very special."

Maria kissed Edna on the cheek, to that lady's surprise and pleasure. "Mrs McCoy--I couldn't agree more."

Norton McCoy came over and shook Maria's hand. "Miss--I'm very happy to meet you. Hank speaks of you in a way I've never heard him speak of anyone--not even the Professor. You must be a very good person, to make him talk like that." Poor Hank turned beet red, and Maria smiled at him in appreciation.

"Mr McCoy--believe me, the feeling is reciprocated. Hank's made me feel at home since my first day here."

"That's very good, Miss Gianelli."

"Please--call me 'Maria'."

"It'd be an honor, Maria." Norton looked at the luggage, arrayed on her right arm. "Maria--you can stay like that all day? Really?"

She and Hank looked at each other, and they both broke into loud laughter. "All day, and through the night," Maria said proudly. "And you don't even need to give me a tip." The McCoy's laughed at this, and they all went into the Mansion, Maria feeling as high as a kite. If it all went like this, it wouldn't be bad. Not at all.

* * *

Charles' meeting with William Drake had been a difficult one. Bobby's father talked of lawsuits, child abuse, the question of his, Charles', sanity, and various and sundry other subjects. And Charles was hard-pressed to defend himself.

"William," he finally said, "I can't disagree with anything you've said. But it isn't the _whole_   story, either."

"I know," William answered. "I guess I have ever since Bobby told us, but I appreciate it more here. Seeing Warren, with those wings. And Scott, with those glasses. And Hank, with those feet. And Jean, just on general principles, really. And above all, Maria. Professor Xavier-- _she_ is an education, all by herself".

Charles risked a slight smile. " _I_ have certainly found that to be so, William."

William snorted. "I'll bet." He took a deep breath. "Well, if it helps, I'm not going to sue you. I'm not even pulling Bobby out of the School. And you know why, Professor?"

"No," Charles said, relieved but curious.

"Because this is where he goddam belongs," William said with a sigh. "All I have to do is look at him with the others. They just _mesh._ You've done something with them, and I'm honest enough to acknowledge it."

Charles was silent for a moment. "I'm honored by what you've just said, William."

"Maybe you shouldn't be," he replied. "Dammit, man--how _could_ you send a sixteen-year old up against Magneto? I'm reconciled to it, I'm not going to cause any trouble. But I want to hear you say why."

Charles didn't answer for a moment. Finally, he said: "Why, William? Because there wasn't any good reason why I should not. Bobby had been an X-Man for a good while by then--indeed, he was my second X-Man. He had trained and trained, and was expert in his powers. He wasn't much younger than some of the boys whom I fought with in Korea. Magneto had attacked a United States military base, and was in danger of compromising our nuclear arsenal. Something had to be done. _We_ were the ones who could do it. And if I had kept him back while the others went, his morale would have suffered a setback that it might never have recovered from. _That_   is why I sent him to fight Magneto."

William Drake did not answer for some time. "That almost makes sense," he finally said. "Xavier--my son is a man. He's a damned young man, but he _is_   a man. I saw boys his age myself, at Okinawa. I guess I didn't want to acknowledge that he _had_   become a man." He turned to Charles, and stuck out his hand. "OK, then, Professor. You win. This is where my son belongs. The issue is closed, as far as I'm concerned."

Charles Xavier took William Drake's hand, and shook it. "Thank you--for Robert's sake." William shrugged, and left his study.

* * *

Norton McCoy was a much easier meeting. He talked about Hank, about how he was doing, and whether he was learning as a regular student would. Charles reassured McCoy about this--indeed, he was effusive about Hank's scholarly attainments.

"That's good," Norton said with satisfaction. "He was always able to do things athletically. We didn't know what 'mutants' were, but our son could just do things no one else could do. We just figured it was a God-given gift, and I guess that was right. But it's always been his studying that made us proud, especially Edna. We saw how smart he was. We always wanted him to have the chance to use his brains. I'm glad to see you're helping him along, Professor."

"I can hardly hold him back, Norton. Hank has an insatiable curiosity about everything."

Norton grunted. "Professor--"

"Yes, Norton?"

"That girl, Maria. She doesn't look pretty or anything, and it's no use pretending she is. But I've seen the way Hank looks at her. God knows, _that's_ the way boys look at girls, and I guess they always have. But there's something, I don't know, sad too. I'd hate to see the boy unhappy about this... Is there something about the girl that's making my Hank sad?"

Charles thought very hard. Maria's secret was hers, and he had no right to reveal it. But he had to tell Norton something. "I think, " Charles said slowly, "Hank feels that Maria is so self-conscious about her looks that she won't let that part of herself blossom." That was almost the truth, and Norton seemed to accept it.

"That's too bad," he finally said. "That girl is a gem, Professor. A gem. My Hank would be very lucky with her." And to that, Charles thought with a sigh, he could only agree.

* * *

Warren Worthington Junior entered Charles' study briskly, and sat down without any ado. "Xavier--you're either as mad as a hatter, or subtler than I can imagine. Maybe both. Warren tells me that this business of your going public was this Shift's idea. Is that true?"

"It is, Mr Worthington," Charles said.

"Umm hmm. Well, having seen the girl, I can understand _that._ Sort of. She must have gotten tired, cooped up in here. But does she really want to go out and have everyone call her a freak to her face?"

Charles was very quiet for a moment. "I doubt very much, Mr Worthington, that many people will be disrespectful to Maria. To her face."

Warren Junior snorted contemptuously. "Then you don't know people, Xavier. People will assume that she, as an X-Man, isn't going to retaliate against anybody. It's like bull-baiting, in a way. And God knows _that's_ always been a popular sport. She has no idea what it's going to be like."

"She has been fairly popular on her missions," Charles said, suddenly intrigued as to why Worthington was pressing this point. "Children, especially, seem to have taken to her. Given her good heart, I think going public will be a very good thing for her."

"Maybe," Warren Junior said. Then, and it seemed to Charles that he was speaking almost against his will: "Still, there are a lot of predators in the world, Xavier. People who will be trying to take advantage of her. Of _all_   of them, of course, but especially her. Her appearance is going to make her especially vulnerable. My boy can take care of himself. Indeed he can! Summers is pretty tough in his way, too--he'd have to be, to have taken the leadership _and_ the girl away from Warren. The girl herself is...formidable. I didn't realize just how much, until today. Seeing her with Summers--" He shook his head. "Well-- _she_   can look out for herself, all right. The McCoy kid is pretty tough, too, and has brains. Drake might be vulnerable to having his head turned--but he's got a strong father, and sense, too. I think he'll be OK. But this Gianelli girl--!"

To his astonishment, Charles realized that Warren Junior was trying to protect Maria. He was being _solicitous_   of her! And would have denied under torture that he was doing so. Charles was touched. He had underestimated Warren, Junior. "Mr Worthington--Maria is as tough as they come. Maybe the toughest of all my X-Men."

Warren Junior made a gesture with his hand. "Oh, I know she _thinks_ she is. But I'm telling you, Xavier--and I'm violating a confidence doing so--I'm telling you, there are some powerful people out there, who think in terms of nothing but exploitation. And they have their eyes on this Shift of yours." He looked very uncomfortable, as if saying this had been more than he intended, and he left Charles' study soon after. Charles thought hard to himself.

"Well, well," he finally said. "What do you know."

* * *

His last visitor that evening was John Grey. They were old friends, and they spoke for awhile of the past, and of Jean and her troubles as a child. Finally, John cleared his throat and said:

"Of course, I didn't know the truth then."

"Ah, John, but you did."

John looked hard at Charles. "What do you mean, Charles? I certainly did _not._ "

"Only at the most superficial level of consciousness, John. I never probed your mind, I assure you--but in this case, your thoughts regarding Jean were _so_ close to your conscious mind that I didn't have to. You aren't a fool, John. You saw what you saw, and you pretended to accept the psychoanalytic explanations you were given. I never disillusioned you in this matter, but I never lied to you, either. You essentially lied to yourself, and it was all _so_   close to your conscious understanding that hiding it was, frankly, giving you a neurosis."

John Grey was quiet for some time. "I suppose that's true," he finally said.

"Absolutely," Charles said. "And I am very happy that Jean has told you the truth. You can now start the reintegration of your personality. A process that you badly need--and which I am very sanguine regarding the outcome of. You are essentially one of the sanest men I have ever known, John. Jean has a bedrock of support in you--both genetic, and personally. And _she_ is perhaps the best-integrated young person I have ever known."

John Grey sighed. "Thank God for _that,_ " he said. "Charles--now that I realize everything--well, I can't begin to express my thanks to you for all you've done for her--"

Charles put up a hand. "Please, John. Let us say no more about it. It has been a privilege. _More_ than a privilege."

John nodded. "Yes. Yes, I see that." He paused. "By God, Charles--I still thought of her as a girl. But she isn't. Not at all. She's not only a woman now--but a remarkable woman. Seeing her with Scott--I don't know how to even describe it. She's _much_ further advanced for her years than either Elaine or I were. She might be older than I am right now, in some ways."

Charles nodded. "Yes, John, I know what you mean. I wonder if she isn't ahead of _me_   in some ways, too. Scott is the leader of the X-Men, and rightly so. But Jean is something different from that. And potentially, something much richer. And strange."

John Grey laughed at the reference to _The Tempest,_ and went off in a good frame of mind. Charles looked out at the night sky, thinking that this day had gone as well as he could have expected.


	36. Decision

Chapter Thirty-six

* * *

"Betty--could I see Mr Jameson, please? It's very brief, and very important." Frank Gianelli stood nervously outside his employer's office as Betty Brant checked with Jonah Jameson by phone.

"OK, Frank--he can fit you in," she finally told him. "But beware--he's unusually bearish today." Frank winced. Still, this had to be done.

"All right, Gianelli, what is it?" Jameson snarled at him the moment he entered the office. "Are you any further with the damned Sentinels?"

Frank walked right up to the desk, and placed an envelope on it. "Here, Mr Jameson," he said.

Jonah Jameson looked at the envelope, then at Frank. "All right, Gianelli, what is this? Your letter of resignation? I should accept it, considering the story that you _haven't_   been getting to the bottom of--"

Frank cleared his throat. "Yes, Mr Jameson."

Jonah stopped cold. "Yes, what?"

"Yes, Mr Jameson, this is a letter of resignation. Effective immediately."

Jameson was totally silent for some time. Finally he said simply: "Would you care to explain, Gianelli?"

Frank shook his head. "No, sir. Just wait a few days, and I won't have to. You'll know why."

Jameson turned a dangerous color of red. "I don't appreciate games like this, Gianelli. Not at all."

Frank nodded. "Neither do I, sir. But I think in this particular case, it's appropriate. If I tried to explain--well, it would waste both of our time." He turned on his heel and walked quickly out of the room, before Jameson could say another word. He marched past Betty's desk, to the elevator, and down to the lobby. There was nothing at his desk he cared about. Best to let it remain, with all the other momentoes of his past.

Out on the sidewalk, he took a deep breath and shuddered slightly. That hadn't been so bad. Of course, his journalistic career was over. But that wouldn't be so bad, either. Now he had to find a way to earn a living, and get on with his life. He'd think of something.

* * *

The living room of the Mansion was large, but the crowd gathered filled it nicely even so. Charles was sitting in his chair by the fire, Scott and Jean on the sofa next to him, the other students crowded around them except for Maria who stood by the door to the hall, arms folded. Her brother Frank sat near her, and she was giving him encouragement. Charles sighed. The young man had quit his job earlier that day, because of his conflict of interest between keeping Maria's secret and his duty to investigate the X-Men. With the decision upon them, he wouldn't be able to juggle both balls anymore. Charles felt badly for him. He'd have to find some way of helping the young man...

The Worthingtons had pride of place, on the large sofa to Charles' right. The McCoy's sat in leather chairs to their right, and the Drake's to _their_   right--and Charles' left. The Greys were on his further left. The fire was roaring, it was snowing lightly out, and he could see the snowflakes coming down in the dark outside.

"All of you," he said quietly but firmly. "All of you--thank you. Thank you for coming here, to discuss this matter. It is quite possibly the most important decision of these young people's lives, and we must make certain we are doing right by _them_."

There was quiet. John Grey finally broke the silence. "Very well, Charles." He turned to Maria. "Maria--this was your idea. Would you please explain what led you to feel this was the right choice for the X-Men to make?"

"Certainly, John." So Maria again explained what led her to speak out about this--the sword of Damocles that their enemies and journalists held over them, and the simple belief that by saying as they were, they were playing into their enemies' hands--both mutant, like Magneto, and the designs of the mutant-haters.

John listened to this carefully. "I see," he said after she had finished. "In other words--you felt that you were, perhaps unconsciously, validating their own opinions of you. That mutants _were_   freaks who need to stay in the closet."

"Yes," Maria said, nodding. "That's it, John. That it was something to be ashamed of." She turned to Charles. "Sir--please believe me, I don't think _you_   believed or felt this for a second. But I do feel that this is the way it worked out, despite our intentions." Charles nodded. He was here to listen, perhaps mediate, but not to make his own speeches. He had consciously decided that this would _not_   be his decision, and he meant to stick to that resolve.

William Drake cleared his throat. "I must say, Professor, everyone, I agree. I had the shock of my life when Bob told me the truth. And poor Maddy had something worse than a shock. I have to admit, I didn't take it all that well." His son winced slightly, which William grunted at when he noticed. "Well, never mind. _I've_ come around. I now feel this is the best place for my son to be. Maddy agrees. And if it is, I want the boy--all of you--to be standing on your feet, looking the world in the eye. Spitting in their eye, if need be. I'm in favor of this decision." Maddy Drake nodded her agreement, and Bobby gave them both a grateful look.

Warren Worthington Junior raised a hand. "This is all very well, but let's get some things straight. Xavier--you've hinted that some of the kids' enemies _already_   know. I want to hear more about this. _Who_ knows, and how much? Let's get this clarified before we go on."

Charles nodded. "An excellent question, Mr Worthington. In fact a number of our enemies know. Magneto and his Brotherhood--" There was a stirring among the families over that name. Charles could sense a lingering disbelief that Magneto, a bogeyman to so much of the world, was a living reality to _their_ children. "--know all about us. It could hardly be otherwise, since Magneto and I once lived together under this very roof. He was a young man named Eric Magnus Lehnsherr then, and was as idealistic as I was about the future of mutants. We were going to create a new future together--for man _and_   mutant alike."

His speech was met with astonishment on the part of the families. He had spoken it deliberately, in order to clear the air as much as possible. Warren Junior harrumphed.

"Well, Xavier, that's one of the most touching things I've ever heard. And I really mean that. But if this is so, why the hell hasn't he just attacked the Mansion with his damned Brotherhood long ago? Why does he let this Cold War between your two factions go on?"

Charles smiled slightly. "Probably for the same reason that the USA and the USSR don't launch their nuclear arsenals against each other. There would be no survivors, nothing to claim victory for. The same is true of us, I think. Magneto could certainly attack the Mansion, make a Pearl Harbor-style raid on us. He might even succeed, kill most or even all of us. But he'd have to be _sure,_ because, quite frankly, he is well aware that if I survived such an attack, I could--and would--get such revenge that would make his victory worthless. I am not one to flaunt my own mutant powers, or use them to their fullest extent. That would change, if he made such an all-out assault, and I survived. I would strike back with no mercy. Magneto wears a helmet in order to block out my psychic powers. I permit him to think that this helmet would indeed protect him against me. It is a fool's hope on his part. If I were ever really roused, I could destroy him. He knows enough of this to stay his hand. Thus, a mutual balance-of-terror exists between the X-Men and the Brotherhood. Thus, we fight, for the most part, around the peripheries of each other, as the superpowers themselves do."

Worthington nodded. He seemed to admire the logic of this. "Go on, then."

"Very well. Another enemy of ours, the Blob, also knows who and where we are. I erased the memory of this from his mind once. I have not done so again, both because he seems uninterested in mutant affairs at this time, and because quite frankly I am finding doing this increasingly abhorrent. Wiping out memories, creating false ones, is a difficult and distasteful business. This is one of the main reasons why I'm glad we have decided to do what we are doing. So that I won't have to mind-wipe innocent people anymore, simply in order to safeguard ourselves."

Edna McCoy nodded her head vigorously. "I can see that, Professor Xavier," she said with certainty. "I should think that that was a very wrong thing to do."

Charles coughed, feeling embarrassed by this simple but good woman's directness. "Indeed, Mrs McCoy. There is also the so-called Mad Thinker."

Frank Gianelli frowned. "The Thinker? Isn't he an FF enemy?"

"We, too, have encountered him." He saw Maria freeze up; she was wondering how much he was going to say about their recent encounter. He smiled gently at her, and went on. "He attacked the Mansion several weeks ago. With his so-called Awesome Android. We defeated him readily, but the very fact that he _was_   here indicates that he knows of us, of our identities. In fact, he deliberately baited us by calling several of us by our proper names. It was this incident, in fact, that got Maria to thinking about our present course of action."

"In other words," Warren Junior said with a hint of disgust in his voice, "the whole damned world seems to know who you are, Xavier. It's lucky you haven't been exposed long ago."

"We had come to pretty much the same conclusion, Mr Worthington," Charles said. "There are also individuals within the government who know our identities, too. And government agencies have an unfortunate tendency to leak." He hesitated, and went on. "There are also certain--individuals--who might know, but keep our secret for their own reasons. Individuals whom I know of, but no one else does." He was thinking of Essex, and possibly Apocalypse as well. His X-Men looked at him with genuine curiosity, but a quick shake of his head encouraged them not to question him at this juncture.

"My word, Charles," Elaine Grey said. "It seems as if you've been very lucky, as Mr Worthington said. I had no idea-- You haven't been thinking about this, preparing for the day when everything might come unstuck?"

"Frankly, no," Charles said. "And that is _my_   mistake. I assumed that the balance-of-terror with Magneto would go on forever. That no one would _want_   to expose us. The Thinker has changed this to some extent, and Maria's arguments, the more I considered them, were making more and more sense."

"Fine," William Drake said. "But now let's get down to nuts-and-bolts. Are _our_ lives going to be in more danger if you do this?"

Charles spread his hands. "William--I truly cannot say. One can argue that you'll be in greater danger, or that you'll be safer. At least you won't be in the dark. You--any of you--could conceivably been killed or abducted at any time, without having the slightest idea why. But forewarned is forearmed. All of you _are_ parents of X-Men. This is a simple fact. Given how many people _do_ know about us, you have all been in danger from the very beginning, if you wish to think of it that way."

"How else _should_ we think of it?" Kathryn Worthington said, looking closely at her son.

"By knowing that you have powerful friends," Charles said. "You have us. You have the FBI. You would have the Fantastic Four and the Avengers, if needed. And I have assets not directly connected to the X-Men, whom I could utilize if need be." There was another stir among his students at this. Charles sighed. He had hoped that he would never have to bring up the names Sean Cassidy, Stephen Strange, Amy Voght, Moira McTaggert, much less Dr Nemesis or Logan. Maybe he wouldn't have to. He hoped so.

"I'm not afraid," Norton McCoy said simply. "Any cop on the beat or soldier in battle has family someone could get to. _They_   don't let that stop them. Hank and his friends are doing important work. I think the world should know about it. I'm in favor of this."

"As am I," his wife said.

John Grey was still frowning. "I'm not sure I'm entirely happy at the disruption this would bring to my life, my family's life. But that is a selfish, parochial concern. If families of other celebrities can do it, _we_ can do it." He turned to his daughter. "Jean--once this happens, things will never be the same. _Your_   life will never be the same. You do realize that, don't you?"

She squeezed Scott's hand, and gave her father what Charles thought was a radiant smile. "I'm ready, Dad," she said. "I simply think Maria is right. By wearing masks and hiding ourselves, we're making mutants seem dark and spooky in the public's mind. The only mutants they see openly proclaiming themselves are Magneto and _his_   crew. And I think that's wrong."

Warren Junior looked darkly at Charles. "That's great, Xavier. And fine as far as it goes. But does it go far enough? Something is bound to come up that none of you have foreseen. It always does. And it just might come from where you least expect it and bite you in the--ahem--behind."

His son shrugged. "Dad--that's true of everyone's life, at all times. Life is just one damned thing after another. There isn't much we can do but try our best, and hope we've made the right decisions. In this case, we're all pretty much agreed."

His father still seemed unconvinced. "OK, boy." He turned to Maria. "But you, Miss Gianelli. Are you sure that you aren't rationalizing all this, just because you're tired of hanging around here all the damned time? Not that I'd blame you, mind you. But can you honestly say that isn't one of your motives?"

Maria smiled at Warren Junior. "No, Mr Worthington, of course I can't say that. I'd be lying if I did. But I don't think that's what this is all about, if that's what you mean."

Warren Junior grunted, but said no more. There was silence for a time. Charles finally broke it.

"I think we've reached the point where we can all speak our minds," he said. "I have said from the start that this is _their_ decision. I want to ask everyone in this room how they feel, beginning with my students. Then we can see if we have a consensus." He turned to Maria. "My dear--if you'll start? I can guess what you'll say, but this is for the record, as you might say. If you please."

Maria stood like she was reciting in school. "I believe that revealing ourselves will be a good thing, Professor, everyone. For the reasons I've given. It is long overdue, and should be taken by us while we still can take the initiative in the matter. That's all."

Charles nodded. "Very well. Robert?"

Bobby started. "Who, me?" He laughed. "OK, Prof. What Maria said makes sense to me. And I'm just tired of all the deception, the lies. It feels good to talk this out honestly with all you people here. I hope it becomes a habit. I'm for it, Professor."

"Good." Charles turned to Hank. "If you please, Henry."

"This course of action has been in _my_ mind, sir, for longer than Maria has been at the School. I didn't feel though that it was my business to question your decisions. I am still rather uneasy at that aspect of it. I don't like feeling, sir, that we're forcing your hand in any way. But as for the decision itself, well, I'm for it. With alacrity."

Charles smiled. "Thank you, Hank. I assure you, you're not 'forcing my hand' in the slightest. --Warren?"

The young mutant stood up and slowly flexed his wings. "I can fly. I can soar in the clouds. It seems natural to me, just as much as walking does to any of you. My wings are as much a part of me, as your legs are part of you. I've spent years holding them in, hiding them behind a harness. I'm tired of it. I don't want to do that anymore. It's a lie, like a light-skinned Negro 'passing' as a white man. To hell with it." He turned to the Professor. "Sir--I'm for it. Enthusiastically."

"Thank you, Warren. Scott?"

That intense young man thought for a second. "Well, this will complicate our lives. There's no point in denying _that._ But our lives are pretty complicated already. And I have personal reasons for wanting this." The others looked curiously at Scott, as Charles recognized a cryptic reference to his brother Alex. "If the others are convinced, I certainly won't stand in their way. This seems right to me. I'm for it, sir."

Charles took a deep breath. This was going well. Maybe _too_   well. Someone, anyone, should be advising caution. Maybe himself. But he didn't want to. _Is this the biggest mistake of my life? God knows. We'll see._ "Jean?" he said.

"You know what _I_ think, sir," she said. "I agree with Maria. I support this for all the right reasons. I'm for it, Professor."

"Well, then, we see what my students think," Charles said. "Let's see about the rest of you--Frank?"

Maria's brother shrugged good-naturedly. "Since I've already lost a pretty good job over this matter, I figure it's a bit late to oppose it now. I'm with you, kid," he said, squeezing Maria's hand. She bent over and kissed him.

"Mr McCoy?" he asked Hank's father.

He squirmed in his seat and looked nervous. Charles felt that the McCoy's weren't always comfortable in the presence of the others, particularly the Worthingtons. "I've said my piece," Norton McCoy said. "Hank is doing a good thing. The world should know. I'm not afraid."

That was a good answer, Charles thought. "Mrs McCoy?" he asked Hank's mother.

"I agree with my husband," she said. "If any trouble comes of this, we'll handle it. But it's the right thing to do."

"Thank you, Edna," Charles said appreciatively. "Mr Worthington?"

Warren Junior looked at Maria, then his son, then Jean, then Charles. "I must be out of my mind, but I rather think I agree," he said. "Miss--" he said, looking at Maria, "I think this, in particular, will help _you._ Oh, I don't mean because you'll be able to get out and around, though that a blessing to you, surely. No--I mean, I think that _you'll_   be safer going public. And in that way, all the rest of you will be, too. Including my son. So, yes, I support it. It'll mean trouble, but I'm a Worthington. I can handle that."

Charles nodded, wondering again at the mysterious reference Warren Junior made to some sort of problem or danger regarding Maria. She smiled at Warren Junior, but Charles could tell she was wondering, too--as was Warren the Third. "Mrs Worthington?"

"Oh, there's no doubt, is there? I think Warrie's just _too_   heroic, doing what he does. I think you _all_   are. If the Fantastic Four can do it, Warrie can do it. I'm in favor."

Charles was pleased--and surprised--by the unanimity so far. "Elaine?" he asked.

"I'd be lying if I said I didn't have mixed feelings," she said, looking carefully at her daughter. "No matter what, I can't help but feel that this _will_ increase the danger to Jean. But that just might be my fear of her being an X-Man at all talking. She is so young, so idealistic--and I think that that's a good thing to be. I'm supporting the move."

"Thank you, Elaine. --John?"

John Grey looked very hard at the X-Men. "I'm not necessarily so much in favor of youthful idealism as my wife is. We're living in an era of youthful enthusiasm, and I for one am suspicious of it. But we're also in an era of liberation. Negroes, colonial people, everywhere ancient wrongs are being righted. No always prettily, not always without a lot of mistakes being made along the way. I think that that'll be true for _this_ decision, all right. But it's also the right decision. I'm proud of my girl, and I want the world to be, too. I'll support this, and I'll be happy to stand by her all the way."

"Thanks, Dad," Jean said, that same radiant smile on her face. John flushed, and just nodded.

"Excellent," Charles said. "Mr Drake?"

William Drake waved a hand wearily. "We've talked this out, Professor. No more talk. I'm for it. Let's do it."

"Thank you, William. Mrs Drake?"

Bobby made a face. If there was to be "no more talk", Charles thought, Maddy Drake was perhaps not the right person to be asked. But she just smiled calmly and nodded.

"I agree with Bill. We've talked enough. I'm a little scared--for him, and I'm not a liar, just a little for _me._ But no more than I would have been anyway. I approve, Professor Xavier."

Charles Xavier shut his eyes. He felt such a glow in the room-- He opened them and saw his students hugging each other. John Grey kissed Jean, then Maria. William Drake shook his son's hand, then Scott's. The McCoys hugged Maria, and soon all of them had--even Warren Junior. There were details to be worked out, and things to do to get ready. That could wait. For now, this moment was enough.

* * *

Early the next morning, Charles made a call to Fred Duncan, informing him of their decision. Duncan seemed stunned, but didn't argue the point. He seemed, in fact, to quietly feel they had made the right decision. Twenty minutes after he had hung up, Charles received a call.

"Professor Xavier?" A familiar voice said into his ear.

"Mr Hoover!" Charles said. "How are you, sir?"

"Fine, Professor, just fine. I understand you're going to be revealing your identities to the world?"

That was quick, Charles thought. "Yes, sir. We've considered the matter carefully, and are convinced we're doing the right thing."

"Well, all I wanted to say is that I completely support your decision," Hoover said in his crisp voice. "Those are six fine young people you have there. I feel sure that this will greatly improve human-mutant relations."

Charles felt a wave of relief wash over him. "Thank you for saying that, Mr Hoover. It means a great deal, to have your approval."

"By the way--did Dr King influence you in any way?"

Charles was cautious. He knew something about Hoover's unfortunate feelings regarding Martin. "He did, sir. And his help was greatly appreciated."

A pause. "Well, that's good, then, Professor. He and I agree on something. Maybe there's hope for all of us."

"If I didn't believe _that,_ sir, I couldn't so my job."

It was only a half-hour later that another call came. "Xavier?" a voice said in a Texas drawl, and Charles recognized _this_ voice instantly.

"Yes, Mr President?" Charles said.

"You're all really gonna take your masks off and show your faces to the world?"

"We are, sir."

"Well, that's fine," Johnson said carefully. "That's just fine. You're all free American citizens, and welcome to do what you want."

"Yes, sir."

"This girl, this Maria. She's quite a spitfire, isn't she?"

Charles almost laughed. "I should say that that was accurate, sir."

"Ummm. Her idea, then?"

"It is, sir. And we're all proud of her."

"Poor kid," Johnson said. "Can't be easy, bein' her."

"Not always, sir. But Maria is very much alive, very much in love with life. She's happy, Mr President."

There was a pause. "You're the lucky one, Professor, havin' kids like that workin' for you. This country appreciates what you've done for it."

"Thank you, Mr President."

Another pause. "Professor--I'm gonna level with you. There are people out there who _don't_   appreciate what you've done. And they aren't gonna be appeased by your actions. Now, I have these people on a damned short leash. There's nothin' for you to worry about. But they _do_   exist, Professor Xavier, and this announcement just might make some of 'em bolder. I hope you've taken that into account."

"I think so, sir. And I appreciate your words. Thank you for taking us into your confidence."

"You've deserved it," Johnson said, and their call ended naturally a moment later. Charles sat back. _I wonder if he was warning me about these 'Sentinels'. I wonder very much. Well, having a friend in the White House--and FBI Director's chair--helps. Yes--we_ _are_ _doing the right thing._


	37. Out of the Shadows

Chapter Thirty-seven

* * *

Camera crews were in place by eleven a.m., even though the press conference wasn't scheduled until one. The stage of the Radio City Music Hall was bare, though. Charles Xavier was sweating. _God, let this be the right decision._ Reporters were jamming the seats near the front by noon. The families of the X-Men were in the wings, along with the students themselves, and the Fantastic Four. Reed Richards, consulted about their decision, had agreed to introduce the press conference.

"This is a big step, Charles," he had said when he arrived at Radio City about eleven thirty.

"Don't I know it, Reed," Charles said with a sigh. "Does it meet with your approval?"

Reed smiled. "I'm here, aren't I?"

"How bad is it really going to be?" Charles asked. Reed just laughed, and shook his head. That didn't help Charles' frame of mind much. He looked over. The students had their masks off until the conference began, and Johnny Storm was talking animatedly with them. That was good--they had already gained an important friendship, in a way they never would have had they maintained their secrecy. Maybe this would work after all.

Meanwhile, Sue Storm was charming the families, especially the wives. Edna McCoy, in particular, looked as if she couldn't believe she was here speaking with _the_   Sue Storm, and her face was radiant with delight. Ben Grimm seemed much taken with Maria, and Charles could hear some of their conversation.

"--so, kid, you're happy with this?"

"Oh, it was _my_   idea, really, Mr Grimm."

"I'll bet it was. Lemme tell ya, Shift--"

"Oh, Maria, Mr Grimm, please."

"Maria, then. And I'm Ben, if that ain't too tough fer ya to remember. Lemme tell ya, there have been times these past few years that I've have given anything to be as secret as you guys have been. But then, I get tired of self-pity and just go on. You're gonna have ups and downs, and I mean _real_ ones. Don't think this is gonna be easy."

"Nothing about my life has been easy, Ben. I hardly expect it to start being so now."

Ben grunted. "Mebbe not. On the other hand, you didn't grow up on Yancy Street, either."

Maria considered this. "Mulberry Street is only a mile away. That doesn't count?"

"Hell, no. Yancy Street is a world of its own."

There was more--much more--along these lines, and Charles could tell that Ben Grimm was making a conscious effort to get Maria to relax, and it seemed to be working. Bobby was still talking to Johnny Storm, and they seemed to be debating who would win a fight between fire and ice. Charles smiled to himself. The Torch would win today. But he wondered very much who would win in ten years time. Bobby, he was sure, had more growth potential than the Torch had. Scott and Jean were talking quietly to Jean's parents, and Warren was speaking with his father. Hank and Reed were having an animated discussion, about God knew what. Something that Charles was pretty sure he wouldn't understand. He could sense the nervousness emanating from everyone, especially his students.

A huge crowd had amassed outside Radio City. Rumors were swirling around the city, around the country. Some said that Reed Richards would be revealing some great secret, perhaps revolving around alien invasions, or even an alien diplomatic presence on Earth. Others talked about the discovery of a faster-than-light drive. Or that he had discovered a method of entering some sort of secret dimension previously unknown to man. But the fact of a connection to the X-Men had leaked out, somehow, and most of the rumors centered around them. The truth--that they were revealing their secret identities--was certainly one of the rumors. But there were others. That Magneto and the Brotherhood were going to join the X-Men, their dispute at an end. That a secret mutant plot to overthrow the world's governments had been revealed, and the X-Men were either going to oppose it, or lead it. Even Maria's rumor--that the government had a secret weapon to be used against mutants--was bandied about. (And damn it, Charles still couldn't believe this was true. He _had_   to get more information about all this...) But all these rumors--and many more--were raging. Well, they would know the truth soon enough. In the meantime, at 12:30, the latter half of the Music Hall was made open to the public, and masses of people tried to get inside. A small fraction of the crowd managed to enter, much to the vocal disappointment of the rest. The crowd outside was estimated by the NYPD to be as great as 200,000--a fantastic number. Large TV screens had been set up in strategically-placed areas in the vicinity of Radio City, and the crowds slowly congregated around them.

The front half of the Music Hall filled up with reporters and various VIPs. Finally, at one o'clock, the curtain opened to reveal a dais set up on the stage. Seats had been arranged behind the dais, and the X-Men's families sat there, their children with them, masks on. Charles Xavier was in his wheelchair, not far behind the dais. The Fantastic Four entered from the wings, and Reed approached the dais while the other members of the FF stood near the X-Men.

"Ladies and gentlemen of the press," Reed said. "Other distinguished guests. And the people of the United States, and the world. Thank you for coming today. We are gathered for a major announcement concerning the X-Men. I should like to assure the people of the world that I know them well, have fought beside them, that there's no one whom I have more respect for, and no one whom I'd more readily trust with the safety and security of the nation. If rumors have swirled around them, well, today's announcement, hopefully, will dispel most of those. Without further ado, I should like to introduce you all to Professor Charles Xavier of the Xavier School for Gifted Youngsters."

Reed beckoned to Charles, and he approached with his wheelchair. They had set the dais up so that he could stand there, holding on to grips at the side. When he reached the dais, Scott and Maria rushed up to help him, each taking an arm. He grabbed the grips, and thanked his students. He looked into the cameras, and took a deep breath.

"Thank you, Reed," he said. "And I should like to second his thanks to all of you for coming." He paused. "Ladies and gentleman--my name is Charles Xavier. And I am a mutant." There. The words had been said, and could now never be withdrawn. There was a stir among the assembled media and crowd. "I run a School for Gifted Youngsters in Salem Center, New York, up in Westchester County. This is in fact a school for mutants. Young people who could find no other place to accept them, a place where they would not be outcasts, a place where they could be trained in their abilities and join together for mutual safety and to protect the world from menaces no one else could deal with. I have so far gathered together six of these young people, whom you see arrayed around me, with their families. They have shown courage, fortitude, determination. I am more proud of them than I can possibly say. And never more so than by their actions today."

He paused for a swallow of water. "Ladies and gentlemen--we have called this press conference for one reason, and one reason only. We have decided to reveal our true identities to the world. To stop hiding in the shadows, and step out into the light. We are well aware that there may be dangers involved in doing this--both to ourselves, and our loved ones. But that has not deterred us, and the presence here of the families of these exceptional young people is proof enough of _their_ willingness to stand behind their children.

"Why have we taken this step? I must emphasize, first of all, that this has been _their_   decision, far more than it has been mine. I was initially skeptical of the idea. But they have won me over. They felt--and specifically, it was Maria Gianelli's belief, the young lady who has won such renown under the name 'Shift'--that hiding our identities was doing more harm than good. That it played into the hands of our enemies, both mutant and human, by making it seem that _we_ agreed with them that we had something to hide, that there was something shameful in being a mutant. Or, conversely, that by hiding, we were playing into the hands of a human race that would never accept us for what we were--that hiding was a form of cowardice, an acceptance of our inferiority. We came to feel, in the end, that both groups had a point. By accepting our enemies' logic, we were implicitly letting _them_ brand _us_ in their image. Today, I am here to tell you that this will no longer be the case."

* * *

Somewhere in Staten island, five mutants were huddled around a television set. Magneto, sitting in a large leather chair, watched intently. He made not a sound, and Wanda thought he might as well have been turned to stone. The Toad blinked his eyes as he watched, peering at Magneto, seemingly not sure how to react. Pietro seemed bemused, as if someone had played a particularly clever parlor trick on him and he was being a good sport about it. Wyngarde, standing over to the side, watched with a smirk on his face.

"Well, well, well," he said when Xavier paused briefly. "What do you know about _that._ Did you anticipate this, Magneto?"

Their leader waved Mastermind off. "Not now, Wyngarde," he said simply. "I don't want to miss a syllable of this." Mastermind shrugged, and they watched as Xavier went on.

"--we are revealing our identities, because we shall no longer accept that we are second-class citizens, ready to hide ourselves away just because it might be convenient for us. Or even comfortable for us. Many Negroes were comfortable under Jim Crow. As of course were the great majority of whites. That did not make acquiescing in it any more palatable. We may not always be comfortable, emerging into the light of the world. Many things will change. We acknowledge that some of these changes may not be to our liking. That is the price of freedom--freedom from our own fears and entrenched patterns, patterns that needed to be shaken up, questioned--and, in this case, abandoned. We are ready for whatever happens."

"Ah my, Charles," Magneto said. "You are _not_ ready, I fear. I could have told you _that._ But still--well-played. Very well-played, indeed. This is perhaps the finest move you have ever made. You may have even overturned the whole board."

Wanda shut her eyes. She could not see what this meant for her, Pietro, the Brotherhood, all of them. All she could think about was the girl, Maria. This sense she had--that she and Shift were _bound_ somehow--was stronger than ever. What on earth did it mean? And why did she feel that when she _did_ learn, her life--all their lives--would never be the same?

* * *

"--I have spoken long enough," Charles said. "I should now like to introduce to the world six very remarkable young people. All of whom have shown extraordinary courage and fortitude." He nodded, and Scott and Maria helped him back to the wheelchair. He moved aside, and Scott remained at the dais.

"Ladies and gentlemen," he said. "My name is Scott Summers, and I am a mutant." And he slowly removed his mask, and stood there, face--and visor--revealed to the world. "I am known as 'Cyclops', for perhaps obvious reasons. I am blessed--or cursed--with an optic blast emanating from my eyes. I have no control over this energy. It's there _all_   the time. If I removed this visor, the energy would explode out of my eyes. For obvious reasons, I have to be careful in using my powers. Professor Xavier and his School has been a godsend. Without him, I simply can't imagine what would have happened to me. I would either be dead, or a pawn of some mutant predator or another, certainly a menace to society. Professor Xavier has been like a father to me, and I--we--owe him everything."

* * *

Nathaniel Essex, watching the spectacle on television, felt a strong urge to throw up. Scott-- _Scott_ \--showing his damned face to the world! Well, it was no good crying over spilled milk. Years of his planning had been upset. He had taken what precautions he could to make sure that no one could trace anything back to _him._ Whether or not those precautions would be adequate, he had not the slightest idea. He could only do his best. Being a genius, and having a century head start on everyone else, might just not be enough anymore. What was the world coming to, anyway?

He shut his eyes, didn't listen for a time. There was just so much he could take. His plans _now_ were defensive. Limit the damage this fiasco had caused. Get revenge--on someone, anyone. Perhaps his dear friend and "ally" the Thinker. For failing him. For the obvious relish he took in giving him the news. For the sheer hell of it. And of course, find out how En Sabah Nur regarded all this. He just might react like a bull would to a red cape. If so--

Essex shuddered. Things were going to get worse--much worse--before they got better. The girl Maria--he had to think of something special for that freak. Something special indeed. The thought consoled him as he turned his attention back to the TV set.

* * *

"--I should now like to introduce a young lady who is very special to all of us, and perhaps most of all to me," Scott said. "Marvel Girl? If you please?" Jean rose, with a final squeeze of her father's hand. She passed Scott, and in front of the whole world kissed him very lightly, and the Music Hall buzzed as she did so. She stepped up to the dais, and looked out at the crowd, the cameras.

"Ladies and gentlemen," she said, removing her mask, "my name is Jean Grey. And I am a mutant." She was revealed to the world, and it seemed to Charles, watching her, that he had never really seen her before. Not like this. Her face was radiant, her voice buoyant and full of vitality and joy. The buzz increased, the photographers moved in closer to her, clicking away. "My code-name is 'Marvel Girl', though what I do is not really so marvelous as all that. I am a telekinetic." She smiled at Charles, and raised his chair--and him--a few feet off the ground, gently lowering him again. "I have been a member of the X-Men for a year-and-a-half, and in that time I have seen us become not just a fighting team, not just a group of young mutants brought together against a hostile and misunderstanding world. I have seen us become a family. Scott said that the Professor has been like a father to him. I can only agree. Whatever we have been, whatever we might become, is because of _him._ Charles Xavier saved my sanity as a girl, and he has guided me as a young woman. The pride I take in being one of the X-Men is something I can hardly describe, and the reason for that is due to him."

* * *

Somewhere on the earth, the man once known as En Sabah Nur watched a television screen. He believed in strength above all else. He believed that mutants needed to be strong. He had long believed that Xavier's puerile "dream" weakened mutants, that he was turning very promising mutant material into soft, complacent stuff that would not survive the holocausts to come. Now, though...

The girl. Something about this girl did not fit into his categories. He did not know what it was, but he realized, with a start, that he would not want the girl for an enemy. Her mutant powers were small compared to his own, but that did not seem to matter. _Strength._ He watched her, and knew that Jean Grey had reserves of strength he did not understand. That gave him pause. And this gambit of theirs--it would introduce new elements into the equation, including some that they did not now anticipate. Elements that would test them. Bring out their strengths.

Very well. He had more-or-less decided to keep out of the way of the X-Men, at least for now. That decision was merely solidified by this action of theirs. He had time, God knew. More than anyone else. He could wait a few years. _Besides--you'll all have enough to concern yourselves with, very soon indeed. When you have been tested--tempered--_ _I_ _will still be waiting. And then we shall see what we shall see._

* * *

"--especially want to express my appreciation to Maria--Shift. You'll be meeting _her_ in a few minutes--if you're up to the experience. I'm not sure I've ever been. This was really her idea, and she carried us all along with her. And now, I'd like to introduce the prettiest of us all--including me." She gestured to the Angel. "If you please?"

Warren stood up, and walked to the dais. Jean gave his hand a squeeze as he passed, and the crowd seemed to hold its breath. He looked so majestic up there, like a god. He smiled, and removed his mask.

"Ladies and gentlemen--my name is Warren Worthington the Third. And I'm a mutant." There was a release of breath, and Warren smiled. "My power--? Well, it speaks for itself. I've been given the gift of wings, and the blessing of being able to fly. And my gratitude to God, or Darwin, or whomever you want to credit for it, is beyond description. I feel that it's the greatest of mutant abilities. And I would echo what all the others have said--we _have_ become a family. And that is thanks to Charles Xavier, our Professor, our leader, our inspiration. When things have been tough, he's _always_   been there for us. The burdens he's borne would have broken anyone else. It's just made him tougher, stronger, and more able to do his job.

"I'd also like to especially mention Maria--Shift. She's been an inspiration to us all since she joined the team, and this day wouldn't have happened without her. We all owe her a special vote of thanks..."

* * *

In the freshman dormitory at Dartmouth College, a young man named Cameron Hodge watched television, a cynical smile on his face. He took off his glasses, blew air on them, rubbed them and put them back on. So dear old Warrie was taking the plunge! Along with the rest of the freaks! This, he had to admit, came as a surprise to him. He didn't think they'd ever have the guts. It had always given him a secret satisfaction that whenever the damned freaks listed their "enemies" who knew who they were, they'd always overlook _him._ Maybe that way, they wouldn't be looking in _his_ direction when he made his move against them. And he certainly would do _that_   some day, indeed he would. Unless, of course, someone else got to them first. He devoutly hoped this would not be the case. Someday, when they least expected it, he wanted to be the one to destroy them. _He_ wanted to be the name in the history books. And the more involved, detailed, and unexpected his destruction of them, the better.

This unfortunate outbreak of idealism on their part made it harder, he supposed. Now, everyone and his brother would be able to strike at them. Well, just survive a few more years, that's all. Until he graduated from this place. By then, his plans would be perfected. Indeed they would be.

* * *

At that same moment in a lounge in a fancy girl's finishing school on Long Island, a young lady named Candy Sothern was mentally comparing the pluses and minuses of drawing and quartering, as opposed to boiling in oil. Not a word to her about this. Not a _word._ About who he was. About their decision. She sighed. She supposed drawing and quartering would be more painful. It was no more than he deserved.

Meanwhile, the other girls--silly, empty-headed creatures--were practically drooling at the sight of him.

"Oh--my-- _God_ \--"

"I'm in love. It's official."

"I'm in lust. And _that's_ official."

"How can that red-haired witch look twice at Mr Pompous when _he's_   within a ten-mile radius of her?"

There was much more of this, in disgusting detail. Candy shook her head. _Warren--I'm going to get you._

* * *

"--OK--now if things have gotten too warm and cuddly for you all, let's cool things off. Iceman--?" Warren stepped down, and Bobby stepped to the dais.

"Ladies and gentlemen--my name is Bobby Drake." He de-iced, and stood revealed to the world in his "human" form. "And I'm a mutant." He took a deep breath, and looked out at the cameras, the crowd. "I've been having a lot of trouble figuring out what I'm going to say right now. Something the others haven't said. But I guess all I can say is that being an X-Man has been a great honor to me, and that having the Professor as our teacher has been an even greater honor. None of us would be anything without him."

He paused briefly. "And I'd also like to add my two cents to what the others have said about Maria. She's terrific, and has taught me some lessons I needed to learn. She's helped me grow up. All the X-Men have, for that matter. Scott's as steady as a rock. Warren couldn't have been closer if he had been my real brother. Jean looks after us all. Hank--uh, the Beast, is the best friend a guy could ever have. They all mean more to me than I can say. Being with them has been a privilege. And I have to thank my folks, because without their understanding--"

* * *

Bolivar Trask could barely contain his disgust. So they were trying to "humanize" themselves! Well, they could pull the wool over some eyes. Never his. All this would mean to him was that his own plan to blacken their names, before he destroyed them, would have to be just that much stronger.

Next to him, Larry stirred. "What is is, son?" Bolivar asked, concern in his voice.

"I don't know, Dad. I think I have--dreams--about them." He looked ashamed. "You know what I mean, Dad-- _those_ kind of dreams."

Bolivar looked worriedly at his son. "You're keeping the medallion on, son? Day _and_   night?"

Larry stirred uneasily. "Yes, Dad. I never take it off. Even when I shower."

"You know why, Larry. Without it--"

Larry shuddered. "I know, Dad. The dreams... But they seem to be coming anyway, as far as the X-Men are concerned. And they seem so _real_ \--"

Bolivar shut his eyes. The medallion wasn't working anymore. Not all the time, anyway. This was bad. Larry could never know who, what he was. And for God's sake, when the Sentinels were unleashed, they couldn't be looking in _his-_ -Larry's--direction. He had strengthened the medallion before. Maybe he could do so again.

"I know my boy. I know. If the dreams continue, let me know at once, all right? I'll see what I can do." His son nodded unhappily.

* * *

"OK--I guess it's time to introduce my best friend, and a guy of whom it can really be said that he stays on his toes--Beast?"

Hank got up, to encouraging smiles from his parents. He strode to the dais, and licked his lips.

"Well, unaccustomed as I am to public speaking, I must nevertheless emphasize the media presence here by thanking you ladies and gentlemen of the fourth estate for your exemplary response to our summons." He coughed slightly. "Anyway--without further ado, let me say that my name is Henry McCoy." He took off his mask, blinked into the cameras. "And I am a mutant."

He looked out at the sea of people, the cameras, the journalists, looked back at his family, the Professor, his fellow X-Men. "It behooves me to re-emphasize the plaudits the others have showered upon the Professor. Without him, I can't imagine what or where I--any of us--would be today. Not in any conceivably good situation, I'm certain. He _is_ the X-Men. He _is_   everything good that we mutants hope to accomplish in the world. Trust me on this one, folks."

He took a sip of water. "And also, let me add to what everyone else has said about my fellow X-Men. We _have_ become a team, a family, and may well be on our way to becoming an extended tribe, if I might use an anthropological metaphor. Everyone here helps and supports everyone else. And again, with the others, I should like to give special thanks to Maria Gianelli, who suffers under burdens none of the rest of us do, and who keeps her spirits way up. She has taught me more than I could have ever hoped to teach her--"

* * *

Brenda Koplowitz, in Reading, watched the TV in her parent's house. Her parents, she knew, regarded her as a trial. She tried to be a good girl, but was always doing the wrong thing, saying the wrong thing. But maybe, that day with Hank, she had said the right thing. He was doing this, after all. That made her feel good. Hank deserved all the good stuff he could get. Maybe this would give him some good stuff. She hoped so.

* * *

In a small room of the Hellfire Club, Sebastian Shaw, Donald Pierce, Harry Leland, and Emma Frost were watching a television set. Their expressions were somber, tinged with contempt. It was Emma who spoke first.

"My God," she said. "Who do they think _they're_ fooling? They couldn't resist the spotlight, after all. All this idealistic bull--"

Shaw waved a hand. "Maybe they've fooled themselves, Emma. It happens."

Pierce made a dismissive gesture. "I can't see that this either profits or harms us one way or another, Sebastian." He paused. "Unless it bollixes up your plans for the Gianelli girl. I'd be _very_   cautious about that, now."

"Oh, I quite agree, Donald," Shaw said with a tinge of regret in his voice. "Since she has gone public, our--inducements--that we were planning on offering her are moot. Nonetheless, I think this still profits us. It gives us more information. And that _always_ is profitable, in the long run." He paused. "We know too, that Worthington has conflicts of interest now. I do not believe we can entirely trust him anymore. And that, too, is a profitable piece of information for us."

Leland shrugged, a big gesture, like the man. "If you say so, dear boy. I find myself a bit worried that it makes a conflict with the X-Men more likely. And _that_   is not in anybody's interest."

"Conflict is always in _somebody's_   interest," Shaw said. "It might as well be in ours."

Emma smiled maliciously. "I guarantee you one thing--it _won't_ be in that red-haired bitch's interest." She considered the TV screen. "I do not believe I like our Miss Grey."

"I suspect she'd reciprocate those feelings, my dear Emma," Harry said lightly.

"I should hope so," was all Emma replied.

* * *

"--And now, without any further ado--" There was a slight ripple of laughter, Charles noticed. Poor Hank. He was nervous, and had been a bit...loquacious. "--I'd like to introduce our latest member, our strongest member--our gutsiest member--Shift."

Maria walked slowly up to the dais, squeezing Hank's shoulder as she passed. She stepped to the microphones. "Folks--you'll have to excuse my voice. I know it sounds like a rusty gate, but that can't be helped." She looked out over the hall. "My name is Maria Gianelli, and I am a mutant." She gave a wicked smile. "As for what _my_ power is--well--maybe this will show you." She turned from the audience, Shifted--and Charles was astonished, and dismayed, to see that she had Shifted into a simulacron of Marilyn Monroe. "I have the ability to become anything I choose," she said, in a husky, seductive voice that affected even Charles. The audience began to laugh, and the other X-Men, Charles noticed, were having hysterics on the stage behind Maria. Frank Gianelli looked like he wanted to sink into the floor.

Maria Shifted back to her normal self. " _That_ is a Shift form that I use very rarely, and only against the most deadly of foes. I usually stick to more basic forms, like the eagle--and I have tree forms I can use--and a diamond form, for especially tough nuts to crack. But there's really no limit. If I see something, imagine, it, I can Shift into it--with practice. But only for a few minutes at a time..."

* * *

J Jonah Jameson watched the TV set in his office. His jaws were clamped down so hard on his cigar that he hadn't noticed he had bit it in two. Thoughts--none of them very pleasing--were going through his head. Maybe the X-Men thought they were doing the right thing. Maybe _he_   thought they were doing the right thing. Maybe they _were_ doing the right thing. At least they were coming out into the open, taking responsibility for their actions. He was going to keep them honest, all the same. _That_ was his duty, as a newspaper man. If they did their jobs, he would say so. If they crossed the line, even by an inch, they'd be damned sorry.

He laughed to himself. What if Spider-Man did this, he wondered? Would he show _him_   the same consideration? God only knew. He doubted the occasion would arise.

He opened his desk, took out Frank Gianelli's letter of resignation. He looked at his former reporter on the stage, as his sister walked back from the dais. The girl had behaved like a clown, but he would have expected that. He took a deep breath. He'd have to watch out especially hard for his prejudices regarding the girl. And keep her on the griddle, even more so than the others. They were going to be popular for awhile. That was a reality. Let's see how they behaved. Despite himself, he had to admit to being impressed. Just a little.

He held the letter in his hands. _Fuck it._ He slowly tore the letter to little pieces, tossed it in his waste-basket. He sat down and sighed. He'd call Frank tomorrow. Get him back on the Sentinels story. He nodded. _That,_ at least, he was sure of. He was doing the right thing.

* * *

There were questions, of course. Endless questions. For all of them, especially, Charles sighed to himself, for Jean. Attempts by the cameramen to have she and Scott show more explicit affection were rejected, quietly but firmly, by the young couple. They stood hand-in-hand, and were content with that. Maria also took a lot of queries, and she answered them about as Charles had expected--very much in her spirit. At least she didn't stretch the truth too much.

The families too were inundated with questions, and they answered as best as they could, from the simple honesty of the McCoy's to the elaborate sophisticated evasions of Warren, Junior. Finally, it was over. The X-Men and their familes, and the FF, were alone backstage.

"I think that went well," Maria said cheerfully. "Did we survive, Professor?"

"We can only hope," Charles said. He took a deep breath. "My X-Men--I am very proud of all of you. You have done well this day."

Jean kissed him on the cheek. "You centered us, sir. As you do for all we do."

The others agreed, and Charles Xavier felt a burst of pride. Maybe this day would turn out to be a good one. He felt they had taken the first step.


	38. Aftermath

Chapter Thirty-eight

* * *

The first couple of weeks of the year 1965 could have been considered "eventful" for the X-Men. Perhaps a better way of expressing it would be to say they all felt that an atom bomb had gone off beneath them. By the evening of their press conference, traffic was clogging Graymalkins Lane, as every motorist within a twenty-mile radius seemed to have set their sights on Salem Center. All they could see were spacious grounds and a far-off Mansion, but that seemed to be enough. The evening news showed extensive excerpts from their press conference, concentrating on Jean--no surprise--and Maria's Marilyn impersonation. Crowds had hung out near Radio City for hours, hoping to get a glimpse of them, which they finally did as the team left in their limo. There were cheers and shouts of encouragement, as well as a few signs saying such pleasant things as "muties die", "go home, _freaks_ "--which Maria thought they were in fact doing--and a few others too obscene to be put on TV.

The next morning, the deluge. The traffic, merely heavy the evening before, was out of hand. Everything had crawled to a standstill on Graymalkins Lane, and County Police were there to try to get a handle on it. The Professor volunteered the X-Men to serve as traffic cops, an offer that was politely but firmly refused by the real officers out there as tending to make matters worse, and the Professor saw the logic of this. He apologized for the inconvenience, assuring them that this would only be temporary. Maria wondered if it would be. Something--some torrent--had been unleashed by their press conference. TV specials dominated the airwaves, that evening and for the remainder of the week. All of them, their backgrounds, their families, everything, were brought out into the light. Even Maria's four years with the Torches and Pitchforks, her travelling days, were gone into. People who saw her around the country were interviewed, her mother's mutant powers were revealed by the people at the asylum she ended her life in, and finally Maria was forced--with Frank--to acknowledge that that story was true. Which, of course, just made more headlines.

To Maria's total lack of surprise, Jean was the big story. Indeed, she had more attention paid to her than the rest of them put together. She accomplished the hat trick--there she was, on the cover of _Time,_ _Newsweek,_ and _Life,_ simultaneously. Overnight the name "Jean Grey" was famous. Anyone who had ever so much as shaken hands with her was put on TV, interviewed by the papers and magazines. The public fell in love with her. Even the mutant-haters seemed to regard her as the "good" mutant, as far as Maria could determine. Mail immediately flooded into the Mansion, and Jean was the subject of over half of it. There were marriage proposals, obscene proposals, even an offer to pose for _Playboy_   for an amazing sum of money. For awhile, the others referred to Jean as "Miss January", until the Professor informed them that it wasn't funny any longer. Every teenage girl in America, in the goddam world, seemed to think it just fine and dandy to ask Jean for beauty advice, romantic advice, every sort of advice. Maria read some of these letters with increasing astonishment. If they were any indication, millions of girls had identified totally with Jean. Who, it might be noted, reacted to all this with bemusement and an attempt to distance herself from it--as if it didn't really have anything to do with _her._ The only parts of the endless stream of mail that she seemed to notice much were the letters purporting to give _her_   advice--particularly, the numerous letters begging her to abandon Scott for Warren. At first, Jean was bemused. Then she was annoyed. Then she got mad. Then she got goddam good and mad. Finally, she reached the point of just being pissed.

"I _swear,_ Maria," she said one evening after the two girls had read a few hundred more letters along these general lines. "I can't believe it! There are so many people out there who have identified with my life, to whom this is all so _important._ It's sad, almost pathetic."

Maria shook her head dolefully. "Red--you're a superstar now. You're like Liz and Dick. Or Reed and Sue. This is going to come with the territory. They'll find other things to do eventually."

Jean shook her head. "I hope so. I don't mind telling you--"

Maria laughed, and went back to reading. The girls had established a strict boys-hands-off policy regarding _any_ letters addressed to them, so poor Scott and Warren were reduced to reading their own mail. This, though,  was coming in by the sackful every day, so they had no lack of reading material. Poor Scott quickly reached the point of cringing every time another sack of mail arrived at the Mansion. Letters, endless letters--from girls intrigued by his coolness, his modesty, his leadership position. Many of these letters were very explicit in telling him what _they_   could do for him that that frigid red-haired kewpie doll--as one of them so colorfully expressed it--couldn't do. Others were from people telling him to step aside for Warren, obviously much the better man. Warren, meanwhile, threw all such letters addressed to _him_   in the fireplace, much to Scott--and Jean's--gratified thanks.

Maria discussed it with Warren one morning. "Did you think you'd be put in this position, Blondie?" she asked with genuine curiosity. Warren looked dolefully at her and shook his head.

"God, no. It's pretty tough, to be honest, Maria. I'm embarrassed by it."

"Well, we're celebrities now. People identify with celebrities--even mutant ones. This will slow down sooner or later."

Warren smiled cynically at her. "Probably later. By the way--how is _your_ correspondence coming along?"

Maria cringed at that, because her mail was coming in sacks, too, and much of _it_   was--well, the only word that fit was "colorful". She had her own marriage proposals. She had her own interesting suggestions from men, lots and lots of men, who didn't find her form unattractive at all. Quite the opposite. This absolutely astonished her. There was a substratum of opinion out there that found _her_ sexy. The sheer irony of her situation made her laugh. She, who was incapable of romantic love, was regarded as a sex symbol by all sorts of people. "Anna" remained her--and the team's--secret, so no one was thinking about _that._ No, this mail came for "Shift". And what was really remarkable was that it didn't all come from men. A healthy minority of the mail came from women. Maria had no idea there were that many lesbians in America. And they all seemed to have designs on her. She asked Jean why on earth _this_ had turned out to be the case.

Jean smiled mysteriously. "Oh, they just see in you what _I_   do, dear Maria. Your inner beauty just shines through."

Maria rolled her eyes. "Please."

Jean kissed Maria's cheek. "Honestly, Maria--I don't know! Maybe they think you can, well, _do_ things to, or for, them no one else can do."

"Well, Jean Grey, that's true for _you,_ too. And I don't see _you_   getting any lesbian mail!"

"Oh, you'd be surprised," Jean said carefully. "But I'll admit _you're_ getting lots more. Maybe they just like your face." Maria made one at Jean and went back to reading her mail.

Bobby seemed to be the particular darling of teenyboppers. Girls from twelve to sixteen had adopted him as "their" member of the X-Men, much to his disgust--and the amusement of the others.

"More mail from your fan club, Robert?" Warren would ask, seeing Bobby dive into the stacks addressed to _him._ Bobby would shrug and smile self-deprecatingly.

"Guess so, Warren. And by the way--how's _your_   mail going?" And Warren would flush a deep red, because once you got past the entreaties from the public begging him to save Jean from that dullard Scott, _his_ mail was--interesting. His letters came from girls somewhat older than Bobby's correspondents. And from grown women. Lots and lots of letters from grown women. And for some reason no one could quite fathom, when they wrote to Warren the lid came off. His letters from women were utterly without restraint, and without shame, and without modesty. And the vast majority of them were not anonymous. No, the women who wrote him were eager to leave him their names, addresses, phone numbers, and anything else they felt like leaving. An assortment of keys, undergarments, photographs, and various other flotsam and jetsam from the collective Id of American femininity rained down upon Warren Worthington the Third. And it had to be confessed, Maria noted with bemusement, that Warren didn't hesitate to read _these_ letters. And in fact to store away an unseemly number of them.

"It's the wings," Maria told the others one evening when they were all going through their mail. " _That's_   it. They feel they'd get some extra frosting on the cake no one else could provide them with."

"Oh, I don't know," Scott said, seemingly taking the argument seriously--and did Maria catch just the tiniest note of amused maliciousness in Scott's voice? She rather hoped so-- "I'm more inclined to think it's pure sympathy. They hope to catch you on the rebound."

Jean frowned. "But in that case, why is it all so darned _explicit?_ Why not hearts and flowers for the poor boy, now that the delicate apple of his eye--namely _me-_ -has been plucked out of his heavenly grasp?"

Hank pulled a thoughtful face. "Well, I should be inclined to think it's connected to Jungian explanations of the _anima-_ -the Shadow of the other sex we all carry within us. Warren looks like, well, an angel. Combine the Jungian aspect, with the forbidden fruit archetype, and I think you can see why he sends the ladies off the way he does. Of course, his natural male beauty no doubt does its part--"

And at this point, Warren shrugged his shoulders--including his wings--and left the room, muttering about how nobody understood him. The moment he left, the others broke into peals of laughter.

"The poor boy," Maria said. "I think the problem is that people _do_   understand him. All too well." There was agreement over this, including from Hank. And of them all, he puzzled Maria the most.

Hank, too, had gotten his letters. Oh, had he. And a lot of his mail came from young men who had, for one reason or another, not quite found themselves. Late bloomers, introverts, misfits, consoling him, asking for advice, you name it. And he got his letters from women, too--all of them, Maria was convinced, just a bit overweight and wearing glasses. His correspondence was capable of being passionate in its own way, but from what Hank told them about it, there was an edge of desperation about some of the mail he got. Like they felt that somehow, _he,_ Hank McCoy, was their last chance. For what, Maria couldn't figure out. But there was a tinge of sadness about his mail, and his reaction to it.

And of course, all of them--even Jean--got hate mail. It was a steady current in the torrent of their correspondence, and most of this was anonymous. But it too was explicit, hateful, and obscene. What _they-_ -the great human, "normal" majority--would do to _them,_ the muties, the freaks, whose existence posed such a great danger and whose habits and conduct were warping American youth--this was laid out in nauseating detail. Some of this combined around the edges with obscenity to produce some amazing stuff indeed. There were death threats, and threats of anti-mutant robots about to track them down, and requests that they all go back to Russia where they came from, and suggestions as to what they could all do with themselves. None of it was very reassuring.

All this they put into a separate pile, and anything they felt sounded genuinely dangerous they sent off to Agent Duncan at the FBI. A few disturbed individuals were arrested, but Duncan felt--and the Professor agreed--that any genuinely dangerous person wouldn't go to the trouble of writing first. Their families had gotten their own hate mail, and their own threatening letters. It didn't seem to have shaken them too much--they had known that this was going to happen. But the sheer volume of it did seem to surprise them. Sara Grey made a public appearance where she heaped scorn on the letter-writers, called them cowards, and dared any of them to come to _her_ house and say these things to her face. She'd be waiting. In the event, no one took her up on her offer.

Meanwhile, out on Graymalkins Lane, protestors came out in force almost every day. Most of them were protesting against the presence of mutants here, with a twinge of real mutant-hatred thrown in. But soon enough, counter-protestors appeared, declaring their support for the X-Men. TV crews and reporters were camped out, too, but the team for the most part stayed inside and didn't comment. Warren went out every day to fly, and the camera crews picked _him_   up right enough. Once, Maria flew with him in her eagle form, and she saw herself on the news that evening. But the Professor decided to just wait it out, hoping the crowds would thin out as time passed and nothing happened.

Carla came to work every week day, and reporters beseeched _her_   with questions, including the inevitable queries as to whether she--or her son--were mutants. She just glared at the reporters and kept her silence, and soon they ignored her comings and goings. Maria felt slightly amused, watching her friends and teammates having the experience of being the "Mutant Madwoman in the Attic" themselves, hemmed in, unable to leave the Mansion.

After a week or so of this, the team started showing unmistakable signs of cabin fever, and the crowds, while still there, did begin to thin out, a bit more every day. It was at this point that Maria suggested an expedition to the city, and they all agreed with alacrity. The Professor also agreed, though a bit reluctantly, and the students took off in the limousine, getting past a few dozen protestors that still surrounded the estate. Someone threw a tomato at the limo, which bounced harmlessly off the bullet-proof glass. Maria had a destination in mind that evening--the Coffee-a-Go-Go.

She looked around eagerly as they entered the old bistro. Apart from her brief visit as "Anna", this was her first glimpse of the place. There weren't many of the usual _habitues_   arrived as yet, but Artesia was there. She saw them, and came over, her long skirt flowing. She took Hank by the hand and looked at him with real concern.

"Henry," she said soberly. "I _knew_   there was much positive and negative polarity in your aspects--but who could have predicted _this?_ " She turned to look at Maria. "And you--Miss Gianelli, I don't know what to say to _you._ You are here, and yet not here at the same time. Might I see your palm, please?" and took Maria's hand without permission actually being granted.

"Oh, my," Artesia said, voice full of foreboding. "I'm afraid--very much afraid..." She shook her head. "It's difficult in your case, of course, Miss Gianelli, because of the unique nature of your palm, your hand, your skin. But it also makes it _easier,_ because if there's nothing else to compare it to, it also means there's nothing else to compare it to--it's unique. And _that_   paradox is actually fruitful in your case." She peered into the palm again. "Oh, my. And I'm afraid that that's the _only_ thing about you that's fruitful. Poor dear. You'll never bear children. What a shame."

There was dead silence from the others. Suddenly, something serious was happening, almost before they knew it. Artesia muttered some more. "--Yes, the lifeline is definitely fractured. Oh, dear. Maria--if you'll excuse the informality, but I think it's _essential_ for this moment--Maria, you'll either die in the very near future, or you're going to live--well, I can't see how far into the future you'll live. Longer than I would have thought possible. But you _do_   have to get through this coming year."

Maria felt her heart beating. My God, what the hell was going on? Artesia went on: "--Yes, there's no doubt. The heart-line...oh, dear. Maria--you're not only not going to have children, but I don't see--"

To hell with this. She removed her hand abruptly from Artesia's grasp. "I'm sorry, miss, but I'd rather find out for myself what my damned love life is going to be like."

Artesia smiled sadly. "Of course, Maria, of course." She looked at Hank. "Henry-- _your_   polarity is so great...but _hers._ " She looked at Maria with a subdued expression. " _She_ either has nothing, or everything. I'm sorry I can't put it better than that. Maria--if you survive this year, the whole universe will open up to you like a flower. If not--" She shook her head and moved off.

Maria laughed hesitantly. "Well, gee whiz," she said. "Are we having fun yet?" They all sat down, a bit sobered after the experience, but their spirits rose as the evening progressed. Zelda came over and talked seriously with Bobby in a corner for awhile. Maria was afraid that the events of the past week might have nipped this romance in the bud, but Zelda seemed confident as she talked with Bobby, and he didn't seem downcast as he returned to their table. Jean and Maria shrugged at each other. Maria noticed Jean's shoes were off, and she was playing footsie with Scott, thereby disappointing the hopes of millions across the country from sea to shining sea. Good.

Hank and Warren were talking to each other about Magneto and the Brotherhood, how they might react to the events of the past week. Hey--how _dare_ they talk about something substantive in _this_ place? She was rescued by Bernard the Poet, who came over to them, a doleful expression on his face.

"Squares, did I say?" he said, bowing slightly to Jean. "Miss Grey--I trust you will forgive a foolish, overeducated man. I should have trusted my instincts. Trust your instincts, I've always said, and I ignored them." He turned to Scott. "And you, young man. I am not capable of composing the ode to you that you deserve. Poor Dylan, were _he_ still with us, might have been able to accomplish such a feat. But I am just a shadow compared to _him._ You--all of you--will have many poems and ballads written about you." He turned to Maria, took her hand, and kissed it. "This is especially true of _you,_ Miss Gianelli. But that, I fear, will be due to your tragic fate. I weep whenever I think of it."

And Maria found herself just the slightest bit annoyed. "Uh-huh. And just _how_   can you tell, Bernard, that I'm going to have such a tragic fate as all that?"

Bernard merely smiled wistfully. "All great stories are tragic." She froze, remembering a discussion she had once had with Warren. He remembered it, too, because he looked right into her eyes. "And _you,_ Miss, are a great person, having a great story. To know that I have been a small part of this story is enough to sustain me for--well, for a very long time. An attendant lord, enough to swell a scene or two."

Jean had been getting more and more annoyed as this discussion was progressing. "Well, I never--! I don't know about anyone else, but _I_ feel _very_   much like having a happy ending!"

Benard looked at Jean with a very shrewd expression, Maria conceded reluctantly. "Miss Grey--as far as _you're_ concerned, terms like 'happy' or 'tragic' are meaningless. You transcend them." He licked his lips. "Miss Grey-- _you_   shall transcend time. That is obvious to anyone who really looks at you, and who has eyes to see." He walked off, muttering to himself, and Jean smiled at Maria.

"Welcome to the Coffee-a-Go-Go! You've just been initiated. You're now an official _habitue._ "

"Gosh," Maria said, getting to her feet and bowing. "It's an honor." The others applauded, and Scott proposed a toast.

"To Maria," he said. "To a happy ending, and the long life option." The others drank to this, and Maria smiled. _They put on a good show here,_ she thought to herself. _But I'm not going to let them spook me._ To emphasize that, she started to tap her feet to the music, and soon everyone was having a good time.

* * *

Fred Duncan was frantically busy these days. There were his usual duties, and his work connected with the X-Men. _That_   had exploded since the Day of Infamy, as he privately called the press conference. He had very mixed feelings about it all, but the Director approved--which meant that he, Fred Duncan, approved too.

His phone rang, and he picked it up. "Duncan," he said absently. He came to attention when he heard the voice. General Farmer. An old acquaintance, from the days when Duncan had been a young agent and Farmer had helped him to finally end the reign of the madman McCarthy, when he had launched a frontal attack on the US Army in the middle of a national crisis in Indochina. The Director had approved of Joe McCarthy, but even _he_   had to realize in the end that the Junior Senator from Wisconsin was a loose cannon, destroying everything in sight. Thus, Duncan and the Bureau had very carefully helped the Army and the Senate in bringing the Senator's nefarious career to an end, with the approval of the Eisenhower Administration.

"What can I do for you, Phil?" he asked his old friend.

"Umm. That was an enjoyable circus a couple of weeks ago. Your X-friends, that is. I haven't had so much fun since my last by-pass operation."

Duncan laughed. "You and me both, Phil. It's been--well, 'interesting' is the best word I can think of."

"Yeah, I can bet. That's why I'm calling. One of my beats is Little America. Something very funny happened there yesterday. You _do_ know about Little America?"

"Antarctica," Duncan said dubiously. "Haven't wanted to go there myself."

"Don't blame you. You'd freeze your ass off. Which is why it's so damned funny--a man dressed only in a loincloth shows up in the middle of nowhere. Accompanied by a sabertooth tiger."

"A _what?_ "

"You heard me," the General said with a laugh. "My feelings, exactly. I thought maybe your X-friends might like to investigate."

Duncan thought. They'd probably be grateful for _any_ distraction from the daily demonstrations outside their Mansion. "I'll let Xavier know," Duncan said. "I think he'll be interested."


	39. Bottom of the World

Chapter Thirty-nine

* * *

The X-Men were riding in a snow rover over the most barren spot on Earth. They had seen the footage of the Antarctic "wild man", as he was being called, clad only in a loin cloth--complete with sabertooth tiger. In Antarctica. The Professor had given them the assignment, cautioning them that the wild man was _not_   a mutant, but that the government felt the X-Men might be interested in finding out more.

The trip down to Little America by Air Force jet had had its fascinations. Especially, Maria noted wearily, for Jean. Every single Air Force man they met snapped to attention when they saw _her._ "Yes, Miss Grey!" "Can I help you, Miss Grey!" "Certainly, Miss Grey!" "Please, Miss Grey--let me do _that!_ " Jean noticed Maria's annoyance growing, it seemed, by the minute, and had trouble keeping a straight face. Finally, a bird Colonel, upon their arrival in Little America, after a disgusting display of sheer abject devotion, seemed to come to and looked at Maria.

"Oh, Miss Gianelli--are you along for the mission, too?" Maria shut her eyes, and tried to think about the headlines she'd get if she did what she was thinking of doing.

As soon as they were in their rover, heading off from the base, the rest of the team burst into laughter. " 'Oh, Miss Gianelli--are _you_   along for the mission, too?' " Jean said in a falsetto voice. Maria growled, and Scott turned to Jean.

" 'Certainly, Miss Grey'!" he said in a falsetto of his own, and the team laughed and cheered, while Jean telekinetically hurled a map at Scott. Maria, feeling a bit better now that the red-haired hussy had been put in her place, concentrated on the path ahead.

"Hey!" she called out, pointing. "There's a--crevice, I think--ahead." Indeed there was, and the team stopped the rover and got out. They walked up to the crevice. Maria looked down from the edge.

"Cripes--it's hundreds of feet down there. If our wild man fell in _there,_ he's pushing up the daisies by now."

"Daisies, my dear Maria?" Hank asked. "Here?"

"You'd be surprised," Warren said, almost under his breath. "There's something damned odd here-- Cyke? Try an optic blast. I have a funny feeling about this--"

Cyclops did attempt a low-intensity blast, and a geyser of snow erupted around them. When it stopped, a tunnel was revealed.

"He must have gone this way!" Bobby cried. "Scott--let me go first. _This_   terrain isn't dangerous for _me_."

"That makes sense," Scott said. So they descended the tunnel, and for an hour or two they went down, and it seemed to Maria that it was getting warmer. Soon, it was almost balmy.

"Our guy must have come this way," she said. "But where does this go to, anyway? Can it have a real destination?"

"Yes," Warren said, and Maria noticed he had been getting more and more excited. "There's something here that no one could have anticipated." The tunnel finally levelled off and opened up, and Warren ran ahead.

"You guys won't believe it!" Warren cried a moment later. "Take your coats off! You won't need them! It's like paradise!" They emerged from the tunnel--and stopped cold. Ahead of them, as far as the eye could see, was a jungle. Full of rocks, and strange plants and animals. "My God," Hank said, voice full of awe. "Everybody--this is a lost world. An honest-to-God lost world, deep underneath Antarctica. With a tropical climate, generated--somehow! Good heavens, what a treasure trove--"

"Yipes!" Warren's voice, crying out, was heard, and they looked out to see him being pursued by flying birds. No--they weren't birds--

"Jesus H Christ!" Maria called out. "Scotty--those are _pterodactyls!_ " And she saw Warren dodge between the arms of one just in time to avoid becoming lunch. But another was circling around him for an attack of his own. Maria reached out her arm and smacked this second one away, and Warren rejoined the team before their friends could draw a bead on him.

"Thanks for the save, babe," Warren said, giving Maria a smooch on the cheek.

"Anytime, Blondie," she said. "But look! My God!" All around them, animals the world had thought extinct for millions of years surrounded them. Tiny horses, flying reptiles, and there--on the horizon--

"Oh, my God," Jean said, awe in her voice.

"Is that what I _think_ it is?" Maria said.

"No," Scott said, voice uncertain. "No--it _can't_   be."

"But it is," Hank said, voice as steady as a rock. "It is. A brontosaurus." The massive creature from another age moved on the horizon, perhaps a mile away, but its outline was unmistakable. It was moving generally away from them, much to Maria's relief. She didn't know how she'd fare against something _that_   big, vegetarian or not, and didn't much want to find out.

"I'm going to do some scouting," Warren said. "I _have_   to. Those monsters have split, and I can't wait another second. Now that I know what to look out for, I'll be OK." And without another word, Warren was gone, heading off into the heart of this strange world.

They watched the brontosaurus with a sense of rapture, and maybe that was one of the reasons for what happened next. Almost before they knew it, they had company. "Mounted warriors!" Scott called out. "X-Men--we're under attack!" Maria turned around, seeing primitive warriors riding on--what? Birds? Or dinosaurs? It must have been birds, because they had feathers. Whatever they were, the sumbitches were coming at them _fast._

"They're throwing rocks at us!" Bobby said, and he threw an ice-ball at one of the rocks. It broke open, and gas came pouring out.

"No!" Scott called. "It's gas!" But his warning was too late for all of them except Maria, as Scott, Jean, Bobby and Hank succumbed to the gas. Maria escaped by holding her breath, and expanding her lung capacity. She threw a punch at the gas-wielder, and knocked him off the "bird". The bird screeched and attacked Maria, biting her arm. She gulped, and hoped she was tough enough to give this birdie's teeth some bad news. Apparently she was, as the bird gnawed at her arm, but finally gave up. Meanwhile, another rider--with a bow which contained four different arrows--shot them at her simultaneously. They bounced off her, and the other riders jabbered something in their language. Maria didn't understand, but she heard enough to know they weren't happy. One of them came around at her, his "bird" screaming, and Maria turned her attention to him. Which turned out to be a mistake, because one of the other riders grabbed up Jean and rode off with her. Maria, before she could stop him, was attacked by two more archers, and more gas. She had to hold her breath again, and fend off more arrows. By the time she had finished with this, the rider with Jean was long gone.

"Dammit!" she cried. "No! God, no!" She turned, furious, towards her attackers, but at that moment, just as she saw Scott, Hank and Bobby getting to their feet, there came a bloodcurdling cry. Into the scene ran a man--blonde, muscular, banging his chest and accompanied by a sabertooth tiger.

 _Well,_ thought Maria, _we've seen everything else. Then this man--and his pet--_ _do_ _exist. Nice to know we haven't been wasting our time._ The other riders fled into a swamp. The man and the tiger began to pursue, but stopped cold at the edge of the swamp.

"No, Zabu," the man said reluctantly. "We cannot enter the swamp. It is death to go there." He turned to the X-Men. "I am Kazar."

Scott looked at Kazar, at Maria. "Well--you found him while we were knocked out? Good work, Maria."

She shook her head. "Uh-uh, Scottie. _He_   found _us,_ more like it." The blonde man came a bit closer.

"I am Kazar."

Hank frowned. "He has a bit of a limited vocabulary, doesn't he?"

"Are you from the surface?" Kazar asked. "Long ago, Kazar was attacked by men from surface. He cannot trust them. Can he trust you?"

Maria looked carefully at Zabu, who was sniffing her in a most unsatisfactory way. He seemed to regard her with approval, though, because he finally growled and went back to his master's side. Kazar frowned at her.

"Is this a woman?" he said dubiously. "You bring women with you? Why do you do that? The wild men took the other one."

Hank smiled, and put his hand on Kazar's shoulder to make him feel at ease. Oops. That was a mistake, as Zabu immediately rushed at the unfortunate young man. Hank was just able to jump into a near-by tree in time, and Maria extended her hand towards Zabu. Kazar screamed out a cry.

"Magic!" he cried. "In girl, if girl she is! But _no_ one touches Kazar without his permission. _No_ one menaces Zabu."

Bobby instinctively put a coat of ice around the sabertooth, but Kazar shattered it with a boulder. "If you attack Zabu, you attack Kazar! They are blood-brothers! You will all die!"

Well, this wasn't looking promising, Maria thought as she tried to restrain Zabu. He, too, took a bite at her arms; and he, too, found her unappetizing. Kazar looked at her with astonishment.

"You! You _are_ magic! Zabu bites you--but he does not feed! Who, what, are you?"

"Just a passer-by," Maria said under her breath as she held Zabu very gently by the back of his neck. "Please--I don't want to hurt him."

Kazar scowled, but calmed down. "Yes. Yes--you are mightier than Zabu. A girl. Kazar does not know how this is possible, but it is." He bowed to Maria. "If you are mightier than Zabu, then Kazar will bow to you. What is your command, magic girl?"

Maria turned to Scott with a smile. "Well, I don't know, Cyke. What _is_ my command, anyway?"

They were never destined to know, for at that moment another actor entered the scene. A primitive with a club bigger than Babe Ruth's bat walked up to Kazar and screached something in a language the X-Men didn't understand. Kazar replied in the same tongue and attacked the primitive, seemingly relieved that there was something here that he understood. He polished off the primitive quickly, and Maria felt a twinge of sympathy for the poor troglodyte, if only because he reminded her irresistibly of Hank. Kazar gave out with another massive cry, and Maria held her hands over her ears. Zabu took this opportunity to escape her tender mercies, and bounded over to Kazar with a roar. When the noise subsided, Scott turned to the wild man.

"They've taken out partner, the other female," he said. "Can you help us find her?"

"Swamp Men are my enemies," Kazar said. "He will help you find them." And off they went, Kazar moving like a great cat himself, not a wasted motion and seemingly tireless. Maria had no trouble keeping up with him, but the others--even Hank--were panting after awhile. _Guess we all need a little more exercise after this caper._

* * *

Warren flew over this savage land, avoiding brontosuari skillfully, marvelling at its sheer beauty. He felt at home here, in a way he couldn't explain. Soaring over this lost world--and who could have believed in its existence! In _Antarctica!-_ -gave him that feeling of rapture he sometimes had in his flights back home, but here it was even stronger. Perhaps that was why he was a bit careless, because one moment he was flying high, and the next he was caught up in a net.

 _Damn!_ He thrashed around, but the more he did that, the more he was ensnared in the damned thing. Soon he was plopped unceremoniously over the shoulder of a primitive, and they headed off to the north. Pretty soon he saw a walled enclosure, with an encampment inside. There was some sort of pyramid-shaped mound in the middle of it, and as he got closer, he saw that there was a flat surface on the top of the mound. He looked around him--was that...?

"Jean!" he cried out, seeing her lying on the ground, her hands tied behind her back. "They got you? What about the others?"

"I don't know," Jean said. "Oh, Warren! I think they're going to _sacrifice_ us to--well, something."

"Your bonds. Can't you undo them?"

She shook her head. "I tried, but they put pitch on them. They won't come undone." The primitives forced Jean to her feet, and they started walking the two X-Men up to the top of the mound. There, the primitives left them alone. Warren huddled close to Jean.

"Do you--hear something?" Jean asked breathlessly. "Warren--it's some sort of-- _roar._ It's coming closer..."

Two massive stone doors opened on the top of the mound, as the roar grew in size and pitch. Then slowly, a giant head appeared out of the doors, and the body of the creature followed, foot by foot as it slowly revealed itself to the two young mutants. "Oh my God..." Warren was shocked out of his own fear by what he heard in Jean's voice. Something he had never heard before. Jean Grey was panicking.

"Oh no..." Jean was shaking like a leaf. A Tyrannosaurus Rex, the deadliest creature ever to walk the earth, stood in front of them. Its roar was shaking the entire mound, made thinking, reacting, almost impossible. Jean was moaning in sheer mortal fear, and Warren wasn't able to snap her out of it. The beast roared some more, and started to move--slowly, but surely--towards them.

* * *

Kazar was going so fast and tirelessly that Bobby finally made an ice-slide for the others to keep up with him. After awhile they approached some sort of walled enclosure. "City of the Swamp Men," Kazar said. "Home of my enemies. Here is where the other girl--the beautiful one--is being kept."

"Well, I like _that,_ " Maria said with disgust. "Even _he_   says it."

Scott shrugged. "Maria--can you scout ahead? The eagle form?"

"You bet," she said, and Shifted into it, soaring into the sky. She heard Kazar cry out, "magic!", behind her as she flew. She rose over the walls, and saw a mound in the center. Jesus H Christ--what was _that?_   A Tyrannosaurus Rex! And in front of it--

"Oh my God!" She headed right for the creature, and as she approached could hear Warren shout: "Jean, my ropes! They didn't have time to put pitch on _my_   ropes! Turn to me, please!"

"No!" Jean cried. "No! I don't dare turn my head! Not for a second!" She threw some small boulders at the monster, as Warren begged her again to free him.

"Boulders won't help, Jean! Untie me!" At that exact instant, Maria landed between Jean and the monster and Shifted back to normal.

"Oh, thank God!" Jean cried out, the desperate, panic-induced relief in her voice painful to Maria's ears.

"Jean--untie Warren! Now! And get the hell out of here! _I'll_   take care of nature boy here." _I hope._ "Do it!" Jean finally was able to turn to Warren, and untied his ropes. He grabbed Jean and flew, tentatively, into the sky. Maria, meanwhile, had her hands full with her friend. She extended her arms and tried to restrain him. She thought it would be difficult. It was worse than that. The monster bit deeply into her arms. She flinched. It didn't exactly hurt, but it felt as if a giant vise was slowly putting unbearable pressure on her arms. She pushed back, and the creature fell on its back and writhed around. Maria jumped on top of it-- _what the hell am I doing_ _this_ _for?_ \--and, extending her body, wrestled with the monster. Its arms wrapped around hers, and she pressed back, and the two of them went at each other on equal terms. Finally, after an eternity, the dinosaur, still roaring its defiance and sounding like a jet on takeoff, began to weaken in the face of Maria's assault. It got to its feet with a roar, and headed back to the open doors. It moved back inside the mound, and Maria grabbed the doors and shut them tight.

She walked to the edge of the mound, shaking with exhaustion. She had never had a fight like that one before. She looked out, and saw that Warren and Jean were still inside the encampment, and were being attacked by more of the Swamp Men. Well, there was still work to be done. She hollered, "Geronimo!", and headed down the side of the mound in a series of what she hoped were Hulk-like leaps towards Warren and Jean. At that moment, a number of things happened at once. The front gate of the compound was blasted away by what Maria recognized, with a sigh of relief, as an optic blast. Sure enough, Zabu leapt into the fray, and Kazar after him, and Scott and Hank and Bobby. Warren seemed unable to fly--probably because his wings had been bound for so long--and Jean was fighting as best she could--indeed, with a remarkable ferocity. Maria wondered if she were trying to make up for her moment of panic back with their feral friend. She reached the Swamp Men and started to toss them around, trying not to hurt them, when she heard a blood-curdling cry. Kazar had done something--and then she saw what it was, because a herd of honest-to-God mastodons smashed into the side of the compound, breaking the wall into smithereens. The rest of the fight was an anti-climax, Maria spending it rounding up any Swamp Man who thought of taking the better part of valor. She left the heavy hitting to Kazar, who God knew was enjoying it. She also at one point stopped Zabu from making a snack out of one of the wounded Swamp Men, much to the animal's disgust.

It was soon over. Warren was flexing his wings, and Scott came over and finally used his optic blasts to free Jean of her bonds.

"You're OK?" he asked her. "God, Jean, if anything had happened to you--"

" _I'm_   OK, too, Cyke," Warren said with a grin. "Or hadn't you noticed?"

Scott squeezed Warren's shoulder in reply, but froze when he looked at the expression on Jean's face. "No, Scott, I am most certainly _not_ 'OK'," Jean said, clearly distraught. Scott started to speak, but Jean shook her head.

"Not now, Scott," she said. "Let's finish this up." She turned to Maria. "Thanks. That's all. Just thanks."

Maria nodded. "Hey--that's what we're all about, right? One for all and all for one. It works fine for me."

Jean hugged Maria, tears in her eyes. "Always, you damned freak. Always." There was a cry from Hank, who had somehow managed to catch himself on top of a pole. Warren went to his rescue, and apparently the battle was over, because the remaining Swamp Men bowed to them--especially Maria. They jabbered at her, and assumed poses of submission.

Kazar listened to them intently, then looked at Maria. "They say that you are a goddess, strange girl," he said with what Maria thought was bemusement in his voice. "You defeated their old god, so you are the new one. They wish to know if you want them to immolate themselves, out of shame at trying to harm your friends."

Maria considered this. "No, that won't be necessary," she said. "Just tell them that I demand they quit sacrificing strangers to the old god, and that will be enough to make me merciful. This time. But I'll be keeping an eye on them from the home of the gods where I live, and if they don't behave--"

Kazar actually smiled. He relayed the message, and the Swamp Men all hurled themselves to their knees, and Maria needed no translation to get the message.

* * *

Jean was silent as Kazar led them back to the tunnel. They all re-donned their coats, and Scott said farewell to the wild man and his sabertooth. Then they started the long trek back to the surface. A few hours later, they were on an Air Force plane back home. Jean had spoken not a word this whole time, though the others were in high spirits. Maria, in particular, was contemplating her new status as a goddess.

"Well, now. How am I going to manage this new cult of me, anyway? Do I insist on sacrifices?" She looked at her fellow X-Men. "I shall certainly insist on ritual deference from all of _you._ "

They let her know, without much ambiguity, what Maria could do with her "ritual deference". She just smiled in a superior fashion, and continued to list her demands befitting her new status. Jean sighed, and went to the back of the plane. Scott joined her a few minutes later.

"Jean--are you all right? What _did_   happen back there?"

Jean looked out at the passing clouds, and then--to her astonishment, and Scott's shocked surprise--she buried herself in his chest and started to sob helplessly. Scott stroked her hair, and called her name, and she soon came back to herself.

"Oh, Scott--" She shivered, and wiped her eyes. "Scott--back there--I panicked. Completely. Just lost my head. Forgot every bit of training I've ever had. I almost got myself killed, and Warren with me. If it hadn't been for Maria--"

Scott smiled. "She's something, isn't she? Would you have thought she could out-wrestle a _Tyrannosauros Rex?_ "

Jean smiled wanly, then shivered again. "Oh, God-- Scott--I _panicked._ I disgraced the team. What am I going to do?"

Scott kissed her, and rubbed her forehead gently. "What are you going to do? Better. Learn from this. Realize that you're human, and you're going to make mistakes--even big ones. Lean on us when you need to. Lean on _me,_ especially--for God's sake, Jean, that's what I'm here for." He was silent for a second. "Of course, this will mean more Danger Room work--more than usual, that is. But we'll deal with _that_ in due course."

Jean's smile was a little stronger this time. "Yes, sir. All of that, and more. But Scott--I'm having a real crisis of morale here. I didn't think I could fall to pieces that way. It's going to take time."

"We have all the time in the world, Red."

"Sounds good to me, Slim." And Jean curled up against Scott, and fell asleep in his arms.

* * *

Charles Xavier yawned. He looked at his watch--by God. After midnight. He had totally lost track of the time, something that he usually disciplined his mind not to do. But this information he had been studying-- Fascinating.

Things had been quiet since the X-Men's return from what they called The Savage Land. Charles had listened to this adventure with increasing astonishment. Dinosuars! Sabertooth tigers! Mastodons! And our wild man...that seemed strange. He was a Caucasian, very blonde, and could speak at least a rudimentary English. Where on earth had he come from, anyway? A pity the team hadn't learned more about him. Well, they had had quite a time, anyway. Especially, he realized with a pang, Jean, who had thrown herself into her work ever since her return. She had had a very bad moment when confronted by a Tyrannosaurus Rex, of all things. Apparently, she had panicked in the face of danger. It was a tender point with her, and she had been reluctant to discuss it with him, but he had insisted, and she had told him about it. Charles had been surprised by the occurrence--Jean was not the sort to panic. But it _had_   happened, and her throwing herself into her duties as an X-Man was exemplary of her. It also distracted her from the claims of her new-found "celebrity", something he could only regard as a blessing.

Charles thought he could perhaps understand why the moment had been so bad for her. When he had cured her as a child, he discovered that Jean had a fascination with the whole concept of predation--of the necessity of life existing only at the cost of other life having to die. On some fundamental level Jean Grey felt this to be unfair, almost as if God had broken some unspoken agreement with His creatures. As a result, she felt something akin to a phobia of being devoured herself--not just physically, but devoured psychically, of being taken over, controlled by a power greater than herself. But beneath that fear was another layer, a layer that Charles had only gingerly explored because it was _so_ basic to her psyche that he was afraid his probing it might do her lasting harm. That hidden layer wasn't afraid of predation--either of her as predator, or even of her as _prey._ Somewhere deep within her, Jean welcomed the idea of being consumed by another, greater power, and using that process to become in her turn an even greater predator herself, in some fashion that Charles couldn't even begin to understand. It was a concept that bothered him, and he was afraid that someday she might be overwhelmed by it, by a hidden drive she couldn't comprehend or withstand.

He sighed. Be that as it may, the sight of the ultimate predator had sent Jean over the edge into a zone where she had been helpless. Call it a phobia, and let it stay as that, at least for now. She was recovering nicely, and her work in the Danger Room had been more than satisfactory. He hoped the matter was in abeyance, at least for the moment. Maria, on the other hand--

He picked up the papers he had been studying all evening. The results of months of probes and tests of the girl. So many questions...and still no answers. Above all, why was the girl so afraid of _fire?_   To the point where she thought it could hurt her, even kill her, when in actuality it could do no such thing? He had not raised the issue with her openly since her initial interviews with him, but he felt that this was a basic fact of Maria Gianelli's psyche. If he could know the answer to _that,_ he'd have a major key to the puzzle that was Shift. At first he had thought it was connected to the girl's mother, and her using the pocket universe as a place of punishment for a little girl. But as time passed, that explanation seemed less and less satisfactory. Why would that lead to a fear of _fire?_ As far as he could tell, there had never been any incident involving fire in her past. Not as a child, and not in her Torches and Pitchforks days. This was a mystery he couldn't solve, and he felt increasingly frustrated about the whole matter.

To hell with it. He was tired, and needed sleep. Just before he retired, he looked at one more report--information gleaned from Fred Duncan at the FBI, that Magneto and his Brotherhood were holed up in Staten Island these days. The thought of this seemed vaguely comical. Staten Island, indeed! Why not Coney Island? Well, the informal truce was still holding, despite Scott and Maria's encounter with the Brotherhood before Christmas. Sooner or later, he and Eric would have to meet face-to-face and work this out. See what was really on his mind. For tonight, he could do nothing.


	40. Maria Meets Her Match

Chapter Forty

* * *

"Maria! Maria! Over here!"

"Just one autograph, Maria?"

"Hi, Maria!"

"We love you, Maria!"

The crowds of children were more in evidence than ever since the X-Men's coming out. For some reason, Maria had been a favorite of children ever since she joined the team. Now that there was no reason for her to avoid walking in public, they simply flocked to her whenever she showed her face. And she thanked God for that. She adored them, all of them, even the snot-nosed brats who tried to bait her. She wasn't exactly averse to giving as good as she got, and the kids seemed to love it when she did. As for why they felt towards her as they did--

She sighed. She hoped it wasn't simply that she looked like one of their dolls, or Saturday morning cartoon characters, come to life. But she didn't think so, as she talked to as many as she could, visited them in hospitals, cried with the parents of terminally ill children. _That_   was tough. But she tried to do that whenever her schedule permitted, because _those_   kids were the ones who really needed someone in their corner. In any event, she was getting a reputation as a favorite and friend of kids, and she loved the feeling. But this day--

Shutting her eyes a moment, she took a deep breath. Opening her eyes, she smiled at the crowd around her. "Sorry, guys," she said brightly. "I have something really important for me to do. So I'll see you around, OK?" Her peanut gallery groaned, but soon agreed that if she had to, she had to. Maria smiled again, and felt her heart beating against her chest as she entered the _Daily Bugle_ building. The elevator trip to the 26th floor was a trial--her fellow passengers doing their best not to stare at her--and she was relieved when it was over. For one second, until she walked out into a city room full of laughing, talking, busy people. Who went as dead as a tomb at the sight of her.

She smiled brightly, hoping she wasn't showing even a smidgen of the panic that was welling up inside of her. She saw Frank at his old desk, restored to Jameson's good graces, and she nodded to him as she passed. He smiled rather weakly back, and she knew then that this was going to be even worse than she feared. A girl scarcely older than she was sat outside Jameson's office, and she looked up, eyes popping, as Maria approached. Maria smiled at her.

"Hi, I'm Maria Gianelli," she said with an assurance she didn't feel. "I think Mr Jameson is expecting me--?"

Betty Brant gulped, spoke into a phone. "Mr Jameson will see you right away, Miss Gianelli."

Maria's confident smile lasted exactly a tenth of a second after she passed Betty into J Jonah Jameson's private office. Then she licked her lips, and didn't even try to hide her nerves. Jameson was sitting behind his desk, leaning back with his hands linked behind his head. Maria nodded to him.

"Thank you for agreeing to see me, Mr Jameson," she said. Jameson made no response for a moment, just looked Maria up and down carefully as if he was scrutinizing the front page.

"Yes, Miss Gianelli," he finally said. "I believe you have something you wish to say to me."

"Yes, sir," she said, looking down at the floor, then shaking her head and looking Jameson right in the eye. "Mr Jameson--for whatever it's worth, I wish to apologize to you for that stupid interview I gave last fall. It was a juvenile, asinine thing to do, and I know it embarrassed you. I hope you'll forgive me for it, and accept my assurance that nothing like that will ever happen again."

Jameson said nothing for some time. Finally, he sighed and sat up straight. "Miss Gianelli--you know, I suppose, of my feelings for Spider-Man."

She nodded. "Yes, sir. Everybody does."

"As you say--everybody does. Miss Gianelli, Spider-Man has trespassed in these very offices. He has gratuitously insulted me, he has even pasted my mouth shut with that so-called webbing of his. I'm old-fashioned enough to consider that a crime--assault, pure and simple. Would _you_ regard that as an assault, Miss Gianelli?"

She was silent for a moment, then nodded. "Yes, Mr Jameson, I would."

Jameson grunted. "I see you were reluctant to say that, Miss Gianelli. Have you ever by chance met Spider-Man?"

"Yes, sir, I have."

"Umm hmm. Did you like him?"

"Yes, sir, I did."

"I can see that. Would it surprise you, Miss Gianelli, to know that _I_ like him, too?"

Maria was startled, and made no attempt to hide the fact. "You do, sir?"

"Oh, yes. He has saved me from my own folly, more than once. He _is_   funny, when he wants to be. There is something about him that is natural, boyish, and yes, likeable. And you know something, Miss Gianelli? None of that matters a good goddam."

Maria said nothing, and Jameson continued. "No, it doesn't. Because of that webbing of my mouth. Because of that criminal trespass. Miss Gianelli--Spider-Man is, I feel, a good young man in his heart. He means well. He usually _does_ well. But he also is quite capable of letting that power of his--wherever the hell it came from--go to his head. I believe that it will more and more get the better of him. He has great power--and with that, must come great responsibility. But _he_ is responsible to no one. He chooses who his enemies are, and what means he will use to overcome them." He sighed deeply. "In this, Miss Gianelli, he and I are alike. Because I, too, have used extra-legal methods--to get at _him._ And I cannot say that I will never do so again. But I do not have super-powers, and he does."

"Nietzsche..." Maria mumbled to herself, and Jameson seemed to hear, because he suddenly startled Maria by smiling slightly--a real smile, with warmth in it.

"Oh, yes. I know the quote. 'He who slays dragons becomes a dragon himself. And beware of gazing into the abyss, lest it start gazing into thee'."

Maria nodded. "Yes, sir."

"Humph. I think that's a good sign, Miss Gianelli--that you _do_   know that. Apparently these stories of your voracious reading in your so-called 'Torches and Pitchforks' days have some truth to them."

"Yes, Mr Jameson."

He put an unlighted cigar in his mouth, and kept it there, rolling it around with his tongue. "Miss Gianelli--I believe firmly that Spider-Man, if he keeps going on as he is now, will cause unimaginable trouble and grief. People with powers like this will keep using them like a drug--especially those who are answerable to no one, picking their enemies, dealing out justice as _they_   see fit. Until fairly recently, I would have included the X-Men on that list."

Maria looked him in the eyes. "And you no longer do, sir?"

He shrugged. "Not completely. Miss Gianelli--you people _have_ taken responsibility. You have showed your faces to the world, and not hid behind the old 'we-had-to-protect-our-loved-ones' dodge, that cheapest of excuses. You have given the world a fair report of your origins, views, and actions. Whether you agree with those actions or not, at least you have done that. And for that, I respect you."

"Thank you, Mr Jameson."

"And of course, you have helped me sell newspapers," he said, in a slightly more relaxed tone. "I'm human enough to be grateful for _that._ Especially this Miss Grey of yours. That girl has what, in my boyhood, was called 'It'. And she seems to be a responsible young woman with a head on her shoulders."

"Oh, she is, sir!"

Jameson grunted. "Yeah. Miss Gianelli, mutants are a fact. They exist. So, too, so-called 'evil' mutants exist. I am not ideologically opposed to any actions by any super-heroes. Mutants are going to get more and more prevalent. We must deal with that fact. And any actions by them for their own aggrandizement--like Magneto-- _and_   actions by human bigots, must be countered."

She risked the slightest of smiles. "I agree, sir."

"Oh, you do, do you?" Jameson said, but it wasn't a bark, just a muted growl. "I'm delighted to hear it. Miss Gianelli, this newspaper will continue to oppose both poles that I just mentioned, and we will do so vigorously."

Maria nodded. "That doesn't surprise me, sir. You remind me a lot of Hearst."

Jameson looked at her sharply. "And why is that, Miss Gianelli?"

"Because he took a lot of crap--excuse me, sir--for things that didn't really matter, his eccentricities, like you do. He was lied about a lot. Some of the stuff said about him was true, I guess, but what really mattered was that he hated injustice and tyranny, and loathed dictators. In the end, that was what counted. And in the end, Mr Jameson, what matters about you is that all the right people have hated you. Like the Klan, and the Communists, and McCarthy. And lots of others."

Jameson shook his head. "Miss Gianelli--did you rehearse that little speech, by any chance?"

Maria's eyes went wide open. "No, Mr Jameson."

"No. Of course not. Forgive me." He bit into his cigar. "I understand, Miss Gianelli, that going public was _your_ idea, more than any of the others. Did you know when you did so, that this meeting would be an inevitable consequence of your action?"

"Not at first, sir. After awhile, though, it sort of became obvious."

"Obvious. Quite so." Jameson leaned back again, stared at the ceiling. "Miss Gianelli--I accept your apology. Provided, of course, that you provide another interview to this paper, explaining in detail how you invented the original rumor out of whole cloth."

Maria gulped. "Of course, Mr Jameson."

"Thank you. And thank you for not trying to be 'cute' today."

"It would have never occurred to me, Mr Jameson."

"No. No, it wouldn't have." He looked her in the eyes. "So--I believe we have a basis for an understanding, Miss Gianelli. Not just you, but the whole X-Men. You're all on probation, as far as I'm concerned. But you seem to have made a good start. You're all _trying._ That's all any of us can do." He paused. "And I respect that Professor Xavier of yours. Now that he's done mentally lobotomizing people. _That_   was understandable, perhaps, if still wrong."

"He feels so, too, Mr Jameson."

"Good. Because _that_   was exactly the sort of thing I was talking about--the slippery slope towards becoming a monster." He stood up, and came over to Maria. "Miss Gianelli--having met you, I must admit, I like you, too."

"Thank you, sir. The feeling is mutual."

Jameson actually smiled. "Is it, by God? I must be slipping." He held out his hand. "Thank you for coming, Miss Gianelli."

"Certainly, sir." She shook his hand. "And thanks so much for giving Frank his job back."

He grunted. "I expect loyalty, Miss Gianelli. Frank had a clash of loyalties, a bad one. Maybe the worst I've ever seen in this business. I think he deserves a chance to make it up."

Maria smiled again, thanked Jameson, and walked out of his office feeling as if she had survived a one-on-one with Magneto. No, better. She regarded Magneto as a less formidable adversary.

* * *

The winter scene was dazzling, as a certain figure watched the Berkshires stretching away to the north. _I love it here. The first time I saw this house, I thought I would find it too isolated. But in the event, it has been a blessing. And of course, I have not always been alone here. I wonder--was I always like this, all along? More of a country person, than a city one? Living here has taught me so much about myself. Maybe it's done some good._

The figure was watching out for someone, someone it had summoned to this place. It wondered if the person coming realized it had been summoned. Well, it would know soon enough. Wait a minute--! Yes-- _there._ It was definitely a figure, trudging through the snow--yes. Yes, there was no doubt, it was the individual it had "invited". Another few steps, and Nathaniel Essex' presence was unmistakable. As always, his outlandish appearance--blue skin, that diamond-shaped ruby-red patch in his forehead, almost like a parody of the "third eye", the bizarre costume with its tassels and vaguely Renaissance outline--all of it made Essex, or Sinister, as he preferred to be called, seem almost a comic figure on first sight. Then he came close, and you saw him for what he really was, and any thoughts of laughter died in your heart. Whatever Nathaniel Essex was, he was certainly not funny.

_I must be very careful here. More so that with Magnus, or even von Doom. The slightest mistake on my part will make matters worse. Much worse. But it must be done._

Essex came up to the front door and rang the bell. The figure opened the door with a button of its own, and remained in the shadows, as it had done with Magnus and von Doom. Essex entered the house, walked into the room with its sophisticated technology, and stopped dead.

"Whoever you are," he said softly, but his voice had a ring of steel to it, "I am impressed. These machines are not from this time or place. Especially time. You are a time-traveller. Please do not insult me by denying it."

The figure smiled to itself. Von Doom had figured this out, too, but hadn't said so, perhaps feeling it was too obvious to comment upon. Magnus, it was certain, had come to realize it as well. Essex saw, and spoke up. He was not nervous or intimidated, but he was intrigued and saw some advantage to himself in the situation. Perhaps he was trying to memorize as much about the machines as he could. The figure laughed to itself. Von Doom had done _that_ with a glance. Poor Essex needed to concentrate.

"I would not dream of denying it," the figure said, remaining in the shadows. Essex started a bit upon hearing its voice, then just listened intently. "My dear Nathaniel, thank you so much for accepting my invitation."

Essex tilted his head slightly. "Then it _was_   an invitation. I thought as much. I could hardly refuse such a kind offer, considering the trouble you must have gone to to issue it."

"Oh, no trouble at all," the figure said. "Not for _me._ "

Essex frowned at this blatant attempt to intimidate him. "Are you _threatening_   me?" he asked, as if unable to believe the evidence of his senses.

The figure laughed. "My dear Nathaniel, no! Just reminding you of reality. You do not know me, who or what I am, what I am capable of doing. Whereas I _do_   know you. I know everything there is to know about you, as you now realize."

Essex sighed, and relaxed. "I could ask you questions, but would it do any good? Could I trust the veracity of your answers?"

"Oh, I do hope so," the figure said. "My dear Nathaniel--how can you _not_   ask questions? Even if you think I'm lying, that would in itself be of interest to you. And in case I'm not--well, how can you resist?"

Essex put his hand on his chin, his face a study in concentration. "Even if you are telling the truth--it is the truth only for _your_   future. Your timeline is not the only possible one. It doesn't straitjacket me, my actions, in any way."

"Very good, Nathaniel," the figure said. "Go on, please."

"That point is obvious," Essex said slowly. "The multiverse, branching timelines...obvious. What's more, you _know_   it's obvious, and you know that _I_   know it's obvious. Therefore, I am not here so you can warn me of any particular path, to try and persuade or dissuade me from any particular course of action."

"Better and better, Nathaniel," the figure said appreciatively. "But you make one lapse of logic here. Timelines are infinite in number--but some infinities, to paraphrase Orwell, are more equal than others. There might be a...tendency...for some futures to be more plausible, to use a very inexact word, than other futures. There might be poles of probability that timelines wrap around."

Essex' eyebrows rose. "Different levels of probability--in _infinities?_   That makes no sense at all."

"Infinity itself makes no real sense as a concept, Nathaniel. All our every-day concepts of 'common sense' break down beneath its gaze. Infinity is--well, infinite."

There was a profound silence. "I'm beginning to get a glimpse--just a glimpse--of what you're saying," Essex said. "And where you're going. If there are these poles of probability...then you represent one of those poles."

"Perhaps, Nathaniel," the figure said. "In a way that you can't imagine yet."

For the first time, Essex seemed annoyed. "I can imagine much," he said.

 _Let's quit fencing._ "Nathaniel--what do you know about Jean Grey?"

Essex was very quiet for awhile. "Well, well," he finally said. "Jean Grey."

"Yes, Nathaniel. And what I said about poles of probability. Think about those two ideas, Nathaniel--Jean, and poles of probability within an infinite matrix. _Think._ "

Essex did think, and didn't seem happy with his conclusions. "In the name of God--who _are_   you, anyway?"

The figure laughed, and walked out into the light. "This is who I am, Nathaniel. Now--what does _that_ tell you?"

The man who called himself "Sinister" looked closely at the figure for some time. He barely seemed to be breathing. "Holy Mother of God," he finally was able to whisper. "I don't believe it."

"God--or His Mother--left you long ago, Nathaniel. They never have left me--not entirely." The figure laughed. "But it's true, Nathaniel. Now--what does that _tell_   you?"

Essex shrugged. "Very well. I can accept reality."

"You'd better."

"Quite so. Quite." He looked the figure over, head to foot and up again. "If _this_ is real--if you are real--then I must accept the reality pole argument. I must accept that you _do_ have some reasonably good idea of the likely outcomes of the games we all are playing in this era, the 1960s." He smiled. "You are--what? Fifty years ahead of us?"

"Forty-seven. 2012."

"Of course. 2012." Essex' smile grew broader. "And just what is the 21st century like? My, don't I sound like the wide-eyed innocent in an early science-fiction novel? 'Tell me about the mighty wonders of 20th century science, Professor Mobius'." He laughed ruefully.

"It is like all other times," the figure said. "The best of times, the worst of times--to quote a book well-known to you from your youth."

Essex looked angry. "Confound it, quit quibbling. Tell me _something_   specific about what happens to somebody specific in our contemporary cast of characters."

"If you wish, Nathaniel. Where I come from, you are still alive. But none of your schemes have borne fruit. You never were able to utilize the Summers family DNA. You never were able to manipulate Jean, or any of the clones you made from her--and yes, you made those clones, all right. You were never even able to defeat the X-Men in battle, on a simple physical level. Not even once. And you tried, oh how you tried." And the figure laughed.

Essex slowly shook his head. "No. No, I don't believe you. You're simply lying about this."

"I am not, and you know I am not," the figure said. "My presence is enough to tell you _that,_ at least. I have no reason to lie. Why would I do this, in order to lie? I am a long way from home. And as you realize by now, there is no returning for me, ever."

Essex scowled. " _That,_ at least, is a consolation to me-- Enough. Scott. Jean. They are, what--sixty-five?--in your world. Are they still alive?"

And the figure started laughing hysterically. It couldn't have helped this, couldn't have prevented this, if the gates of Hell were opening in front of it, if it did not stop. "Oh, _God!_ " it finally was able to say. "Nathaniel--it is _you_   who should be wearing a court-jester's costume, not the Toad. Even _you_   must see how foolish that question is."

Essex considered this, and then he did a remarkable thing--he laughed, too. Softly, but with genuine relish.

"Thank you," he said after he had finished. "I do not believe that I shall burden you with further questions about the 21st century." He looked at the figure. "You've taken quite a chance here today, have you not?"

"I have," the figure agreed. "But it had to be done."

"I can see that," Essex said. "My word--there's a crisis point coming up very soon, isn't there?"

"There is," the figure said. "Trask is almost ready. Do you have contingency plans for the Sentinels, Nathaniel, one way or another?"

Essex shrugged. "Not really. I have DNA samples. If the worst should happen, that would be sufficient. As for the rest--well, I cannot do everything, be everywhere. The X-Men--and Magnus, for that matter--must fend for themselves, ultimately."

"I agree," the figure said. "But this meeting, Nathaniel--it, too, is a crisis point of sorts. Has it changed anything for you?"

Essex smiled bitterly. "You know it has. I shall wait until the coming crisis is over. In fact, I must. And you know I must. After that--"

The figure sighed. "Indeed. After that."

Essex looked almost sad. "There is sadness, tragedy, death, life. There is resurrection. There is hope, and despair." He looked suddenly at the figure with a fierce clarity. "You must tell me this. Whose ideas have triumphed--Xavier's, or Magnus'?"

The figure laughed. "Both. Neither. There has been a--dialectic."

"A dialectic." Essex laughed again. "Many thanks for a most enjoyable discussion. You have given me much to think upon."

"My pleasure, Nathaniel," the figure said. "And for the record--just what plan of yours have I forestalled, with this intervention?"

Essex smiled cruelly. "I had been going to punish Maria Gianelli. Very severely, I assure you."

The figure thought hard about this. "I do not believe that such a plan would have helped you materially, Nathaniel."

"Perhaps not. But it would have been fun. Now, though--" He shrugged. "Well, we shall see what we see. I shall leave the Gianelli girl to her own devices. She's quite capable of getting into trouble without my aid." He paused. "And Scott and Jean, too, will be safe from me. For the moment."

"Fair enough."

Essex walked to the door of the house. "Farewell," he said.

"Farewell, Nathaniel." And the figure was alone again.

_That worked. Maybe_ _too_ _well. Essex seemed to acquiesce easily. But then, I've given him much to think about. If I can just keep him thinking along the lines I want for the next few months, that will be sufficient._

* * *

Jean and Maria were doing a Danger Room sequence together. One devoted to defending the Mansion against anti-mutant demonstrators who had gotten out of hand. Needless to say, this was a new sequence put in since their coming out. The others--including the Professor--were assumed, for the sake of the sequence, to be absent from the Mansion, leaving just the two girls. They watched carefully as hordes of human "demonstrators"--mostly crude robots waving "placards"--rushed at them threatening them with sheer force of numbers.

"Now, Jean, Maria," the Professor was saying from the control room, the boys there watching with him-- "you have to defend the Mansion. Without harming a hair on the heads of any of the demonstrators, who have become rioters. You have seventy-five seconds."

"Thanks," Maria said under her breath. The first line of robots came towards her, and she extended her arm and blocked their passage. She felt the robots go "clank" against her, and felt them applying pressure against her arm, trying to break through. Meanwhile, Jean was telekinetically holding her group of "demonstrators" at bay. Maria could have stayed in this position until Doomsday, much less seventy-five seconds. What was the catch?

That became apparent a moment later, when one of the robots tossed a Molotov Cocktail right at Maria. The force of the blast didn't hurt her, of course, but it did cause her to lose her concentration and pull her arm back to her face, and when she did that the robots advanced again. As they did so, Jean's telekinesis was giving way as yet another group of robots came up on the heels of the ones she was holding back. A few of her robots slipped past her TK shield. One of them tossed a hand grenade at Jean, who scooped it up with her TK and tossed it up towards the ceiling. There, it blew up--it wasn't as potent as a real hand grenade, but did explode into some pretty fireworks. As Jean did this, the robots were almost upon her, and she had to put a TK shield up again, fast. It held, but just barely. Her original robot "demonstrators" and the new ones who joined them all came together to make a determined effort to overcome her.

 _To hell with this._ "Jean!" Maria called. "Move back!" Jean did so, looking at Maria hesitantly. Maria, in the second before the robots were able to move on them, stood her ground determinedly and extended her arms to their greatest extent--great enough, in the event, to cover the entire Danger Room, wall-to-wall. The robots were held back behind her arms as much as if they had been the Berlin Wall.

Maria felt them pushing against her arms, all of them, dozens. It didn't matter. She was anchored, and determined not to let a single one of them pass. And they didn't, as the Professor said, "time", and Maria relaxed the pressure on her arms. She looked up at the control room.

"Professor--what would have happened in the real world, where there's no seventy-five second time limit?"

The Professor looked unfazed. "It's impossible to tell, Maria. Perhaps the other X-Men would have returned. Or cooler heads would have prevailed among the protestors. Or the police might have shown up. Or even the television networks--no one behaves exactly the same when they're around, as opposed to when they're not. But in any event, we couldn't have kept the exercise going forever. This was a test of yours and Jean's ability to cope with a quick-forming emergency. I think your results were satisfactory."

Jean shook her head. "No, Professor. Had the test lasted even a little while longer, and had Maria not done what _she_ did, I would have been overcome. I am not satisfied with my performance."

The Professor sighed. "Jean, you have not been satisfied with anything you have done since your return from Antarctica. But it is _my_   belief that you did well this day. Accept that, and we'll work from there."

Jean licked her lips. "Very well, Professor." The girls were excused, and retired to the girl's locker room. After a quick shower, they were getting dressed for afternoon classes when Maria looked hard at Jean. "Red--"

"Yes, Maria?" Jean said, but Maria sensed that Jean's thoughts were a million miles away.

"Jean--it's _OK._ Yes, you screwed up in Antarctica. We all do. But it worked out as it should have. I was there, your teammate, remember? I saved you, as you've saved the others in your time. It's what we do."

Jean looked unhappy. "If I can freeze up once, Maria, I can do it again."

"So what are you going to do? Look both ways every time you go into combat? Red--we need you giving us your full attention."

Jean looked at Maria, and laughed. The two girls hugged each other.

"OK, you freak," Jean said. "I promise--no more brooding. I'll be concerned, but not obsessed. Deal?"

"Deal," Maria said, kissing her friend on the cheek. "It's all we ask."

* * *

That evening, Maria was lounging in the library, idly reading some of Ezra Pound's _Cantos_ without much enthusiasm. She heard a cough, and saw Hank at the entrance, looking a little embarrassed.

"Hey, come on in," she said, putting the book down. "Anything is better than reading another word of Ezra."

Hank laughed softly. "He _does_   challenge one, does he not?"

"I can use a more pithy word than that," Maria said with a laugh. She pounded the sofa next to her. "Have a seat, Henry, my boy."

Hank sat down. "Many thanks, Maria." He looked embarrassed. "Maria--I have something I need to ask you. And it's not going to be easy for either of us."

She took his hand. "Hank--there's _nothing_   you can't ask me. Nothing in this world. You know that, don't you?"

"I do," he said. "That's why this is so difficult... Maria. You know I love you."

"Of course I do," she said. "Of course I do, Hank. And you know I love you. Horribly."

"Yes," he said softly. "I of course know that, Maria. If I know anything in this world, I know that. That's why--"

A lightbulb went on over Maria's head. "Oh, my. I know what this is about. Hank--you're asking my permission to go on a date, aren't you?'

Hank looked at the floor. "Yes, Maria."

"Oh, Hank--you big goof--you don't need my permission. We both know that _I_ can't ever be your girl, much less your wife someday and the mother of your little McCoy's. I'd love to be, don't get me wrong. God yes I'd love to be. But it's not in the cards. You can't stay alone the rest of your life because you're pining for something that's impossible." She smiled, took his hand. "Who is she, Hank?"

"A friend of Zelda's. Her name is Vera. She's a librarian. Nothing has been set yet, no exact time or anything--but we've discussed it, and well, we thought it was something we'd like to do one of these days. But I had to ask you."

Maria smiled at Hank, and she hoped it was as full of understanding and love as she wanted it to be. _If_ _any_ _of my damned facial expressions registers anything to anybody, that is._ "Henry McCoy, if you _don't_   go out with Vera, I swear to God I'll spank you in the middle of Times Square."

Hank's eyes opened wide. "Oh, my. I'd like to see you try _that._ "

"Would you really?" Maria asked, voice challenging. Hank thought about this.

"No, I indubitably would not," he said.

"You bet you wouldn't, Hank," she said. "So you go, OK?"

Hank rose, kissed Maria on the cheek. "Thank you, my dearest friend. I mean that. You have elucidated matters very clearly. And lightened my heart."

"We're all here for each other, Hank," she said brightly. Then she went up to Jean's room, and sobbed in her best friend's arms for a good half-an-hour.


	41. Birthday Girl

Chapter Forty-one

* * *

Edward Buckman took a long swig of his drink, and contemplated his life. Things were getting complicated. On the one hand, he had the Council of the Chosen, the Inner Circle of the Hellfire Club, on his back. _They_   were interested in power and prestige, of course--who wasn't?--but they also were getting increasingly concerned about the presence-- "infestation", one of them called it--of mutants in the Club. Buckman assured them that this was only temporary, that these mutants were interested in power and prestige themselves, just like everybody, and that of course in time the mutants would be plucked like chickens. But only after they had been fleeced for every penny the Club could get out of them. And that was still far in the future. Shaw, Leland, Frost--all were new to the Club, enthusiastic, able to give and give under his, Buckman's, ministrations. Why hurry things along, Old Top? Besides, plotting the destruction of mutant vermin who trusted you--well, what an exhilarating experience _that_   was! Really, nothing like it. Just have patience, and in a few years--when the fleecing was complete, and their trust totally given--well, _then_ they could have some fun with the muties.

Buckman sighed. People--! The other members of the Council simply didn't understand these finer points. Especially since the X-Men had gone public, and made mutants _popular._ Being turned into cover girls! If this went on, anti-mutant prejudice just might die down completely. They could hardly _depend_   upon Magneto doing something foolish. Which, of course, left Trask.

Trask. Buckman shut his eyes, and felt an almost physical pain at the thought of the trouble Trask could cause business, commerce. A race war, with genocidal robots as the triggering factor! He would simply have to get his holdings out of the Market before that happened. He shook his head dolefully. No, he definitely had _not_ intended to deal with Shaw and Company at _this_   time. But if events overtook him--

And of course, there was Shaw himself. Pitifully anxious for acceptance. A man--well, no, one could hardly call him _that._ A--thing--who had made a fortune passing as a human being, with no reliance on his mutant powers at all. Buckman supposed he should respect him for that, but really--! Respecting a member of a mongrel race? And Leland, Lourdes, Emma--? Buckman laughed out loud. He wanted to extend as long as possible the sheer pleasure he took in seeing them every day, pretending friendship, while coolly plotting their destruction. Seeing the look on the Frost bitch's face, as she realized she couldn't see into his heart with her witchcraft. And of course the culmination, seeing the look on all of their vermin faces when they realized that they were doomed, that he had spent such a long time on their downfall and that _this_   was the moment for that happy culmination to finally occur. Meanwhile, Shaw grovelled almost like a dog at his heels, so grateful was he for the bones that Buckman threw at him.

His private phone rang. The voice that came over it was Trask's, and Buckman winced. Well--no avoiding it, he supposed. He answered in a friendly tone, and Trask told him in no uncertain terms that action had to be taken now. The present media circus regarding the X-Men only strengthened his resolve.

"Buckman, we have to strike soon. The longer we wait, the more the public comes to accept mutants as 'heroes'. We can't let that happen."

"Oh, quite, Old Top," Buckman had answered. "But my dear Trask--what are you going to do, anyway? Just attack like a bolt out of the blue? Americans remember Pearl Harbor. They'd hardly accept it this time, even against mutants. You'd have to prepare the ground. Especially since, regrettably, the muties _are_ so much in the public's good graces."

"That's why we're preparing a propaganda campaign," Trask said. "We have secretly hired a major advertising outfit to come up with ideas. We have to blacken them all in the next few weeks--especially the X-Men. That's all I'm prepared to wait. Then we strike, no matter _how_ damned popular the goddam muties are."

Buckman sighed to himself. Thus spake a true fanatic! And fanaticism was bad for business. Really, no one loathed the freaks more than he did. But this excess was--unfortunate. "My people here agree with you," he was forced to admit. "The Council--they too are alarmed at seeing our delicious Miss Grey on magazine covers. It confirms their worst fears. I am being put under increased pressure."

"So what the hell is holding you back, Buckman?"

Buckman took a sip of water. "My dear Trask--do you conceive of how much money I can squeeze out of Shaw and his friends these next few years? Do you think I want the gravy train to come to an end _this_ quickly?"

Trask snorted. "Money. It's always about money with you, isn't it, Buckman?"

"You say that as if it's a bad thing, Old Top."

"Buckman--it's time to piss or get off the pot. This alarming increase in the popularity of the X-Men requires desperate measures. We are going to take them with your permission or without it. We've had a good working arrangement, you and I, but if need be, there are other members of your Council whom I'm prepared to work with."

Buckman felt those words like a body blow."You _wouldn't_   go over my head," he said, not pretending to be polite and urbane for once.

"Wouldn't I? Buckman--the time for being all-too-superior is over. No more playing games with the freaks. There is no neutrality. You either take our side, or get pushed aside."

Ned Buckman took a deep breath. Could he survive an internecine power struggle in the Club right now? He almost laughed out loud. Not without the support of Shaw and his crew. And that would be the ultimate Phyrric victory. He knew that that was not an option. To hell with it. Once Shaw and the others were gone, he'd still be wealthy beyond most men's imaginations.

"Very well, Bolivar," he said. "There's no need for harsh words between us. I'm on your side, of course."

Trask was silent for a moment. "I'm very glad to hear that, Ned," he said. "More glad than you know, maybe. Very well. When the time comes--"

Buckman smiled. "I'll enjoy every moment of the chopping block." The two men laughed.

* * *

Maria looked down at the Hudson, soaring over it in her eagle form. Warren was a far-off dot circling around near Bear Mountain. She could see snow covering the mountains, and ice floes on the side of the River. She didn't feel cold at all right now--could she actually be cold-blooded, in her eagle form? The thought delighted her, and she made some wild circles in the air, whooping like an Apache and making a bee-line for Warren, heading back her way towards the Hudson.

" _You_ seem awfully pleased with something," he said when he got near enough for her to hear him.

"I'm cold-blooded, Warren!"

"Well, I kind of guessed _that,_ " he said with a smile. "You aren't exactly a passionate wench, now, are you?"

Her eagle eyes opened in mock astonishment. "You dare to laugh at my unfortunate affliction?"

"Hey, if you can't laugh at a tragic heroine trapped in a sexually neuter body, what _can_   you laugh at?'

Maria bared her teeth. "How about a stuck-up flyboy in serious danger of being neutered himself?"

"If you catch me first!" And he took off at an alarming rate of speed, back towards the Mansion. She followed as best she could, knowing she couldn't match him when he was serious, knowing too that her time in this Shift form was almost over. She finally came to ground near the swimming pool, Warren waiting for her. She had noticed only a handful of demonstrators outside the grounds, thank God.

Warren hugged her, kissed her cheek. "Still feeling cold-blooded, babe?"

She stuck her tongue out at him. "Not a bit."

"Too bad." And to her surprise, Warren squeezed her hand and looked serious for a moment. "Maria--please don't give up on love. I've never met anyone who has more to give, except maybe Jean. And it's close."

She looked at her feet a moment. "I hate giving up about anything, Warren. But let's face it--"

He hugged her again. "I know, kid. I know." Then he was smiling again. " _None_   of your lady correspondents interest you?"

She glared at him. "How about _yours?_   I've read a few of your letters, Blondie, despite your precautions. Seems to me you have more--well, options--than any of us."

Warren's face got serious again. "Maria--I swear, I don't want to live a life like something out of the _Playboy Advisor._ Everybody thinks I do, but it isn't really me. Those letters--" He shook his head. "That's a fantasy, not real life. None of those people know me."

"Oh, my," Maria said softly. "So the Angel wants a Meaningful Relationship. Warren--I'm pleased to hear that. Really."

He smiled at her. "Seeing Scott and Jean makes me jealous. There. I've said it."

"I know what you mean. There's something, I don't know--it's as if they're like something out of a story-book."

Warren looked startled. For a moment Maria thought he was going to comment on what she said, but he apparently thought better of it. "Come on in," he said, going to the door and holding it open for her. "I want to answer some of my mail."

Maria's eyes flew wide open. "Oh, my. How do you do _that,_ and keep searching for your Meaningful Relationship?"

He didn't smile. "Oh, you know what I mean, Maria. Not _every_ letter I get is from a sex-starved woman. We all get serious letters--from kids, people whom we might do some good for."

She nodded. "I know, Warren. I know."

Warren did smile then--almost shyly, Maria thought. She felt a burst of sheer love for him then. "You above all, babe. I know you're at hospitals every chance you get these days, talking to terminally ill kids and their folks. That can't be easy."

"It's a nightmare," she said. "But my God, Warren--those poor kids. Their eyes light up when they see me. They feel instinctively that I'm their friend. And I try to be." She shivered a little, and not from the cold. "But it's so hard... Warren--believe me, I _don't_   feel sorry for myself. Not anymore."

He kissed her on her lips, and she kissed back as best she could. "Maria--I don't feel sorry for you, either. No one could feel sorry for someone as alive as you." And he walked off into the Mansion, leaving Maria with some tears running down her face.

* * *

 _This is ridiculous, absurd. A sheer self-indulgence._ A certain figure, looking out at the Berkshires on this clear February day, felt pleasurably guilty. It was doing something foolish, it knew that, and it didn't care. It wanted to do it, and that was that.

 _Von Doom. Magnus. Essex. Those were necessary confrontations. This is not. To hell with it. I deserve a break from responsibility._ It was waiting for the sound of a car coming up the primitive mountain road to its house, here at the very pinnacle of the Berkshires. Soon, indeed, it heard the sound of an approaching auto, and the figure looked out the window. A car came slowly up the road, where it ended in a circular driveway. The car stopped, and a man got out, looking about him rather hesitantly.

A moment later the doorbell rang and the figure opened it with its own buzzer. The visitor walked into the house, blinking, looking around in what the figure thought, a bit amused, was awe. This man, of all people--intimidated by future technology! The visitor paused briefly to look at some pictures arrayed in the front hall. And stopped dead, utterly immobile. The figure then did chuckle, briefly, as the visitor heard it and looked towards the source of the laughter.

The figure was in the living room of its house, not the room with the computers and advanced machines. The visitor gingerly entered, and looked long and hard at the figure. Who bowed towards its visitor.

"Dr Asimov," the figure said, and Isaac Asimov blinked again, looking around him. Asimov was holding a paperback book in his hand.

"I can't quite believe this," he said at last. "In your--invitation, I suppose I must call it. This book..." He put it down on a small table and sat down in a chair next to it. The figure laughed, and sat itself in a rocking chair across from him.

"Indeed, Dr Asimov. You enjoyed reading it, I suppose?"

Asimov frowned, then put his head back and laughed. "My God--do I really look like this in 1982?" he said, indicating the author photo on the book's inside back cover, showing him with long, flowing hair. The book was titled "Foundation's Edge", and it indeed had a copyright date of 1982.

"You do, Isaac," the figure said. "You don't mind my calling you Isaac?"

Asimov looked hard at the figure. "I most certainly do not," he said after a moment. "When I received your--gift--and realized what it meant, I thought long and hard as to who my benefactor might be." He smiled, now relaxed. "I guessed you. I'm glad I was correct."

The figure laughed, with real delight. "How marvelous! So you _did_ guess! I was hoping you might." It looked at the book. "And the novel--what did you make of it?"

Asimov shrugged. "I accept reality. I'm a man of science, and must accept evidence. This _is_ my writing. I _did_   write this book--seventeen years from now." He smiled slightly. "So I _do_   write another Foundation novel."

"You do," the figure said. "And a good one it is, too."

"Why, thank you," Asimov said, bowing slightly to the figure from his chair. "I agree. It's _terrific!_ " And the two of them laughed.

"Once you realized what it was, Isaac--what did you think? How did you respond?"

Asimov was quiet for a moment. "I was shocked--but on some level, I was not _surprised._ Aliens have become real in our world, mutants have become real...so I suppose, in some way, I was subconsciously prepared for time travel." He smiled ruefully. "I must admit, though, it's a balm to my ego to have it thrust in my face _this_ way--with one of my own future books!"

The figure smiled appreciatively. "I hoped you'd regard it in that manner, Isaac. I trust you note that aliens make their appearance in your all-Human Galaxy...and the role of mutants has been upgraded."

Asimov laughed. "Again--reality! I'm pleased to see I've dealt with it well." He peered at the figure. "You are from--I'd estimate early-21st century, am I not correct?"

"You are," the figure said with an affectionate smile. "2012, to be exact."

"2012," Asimov said almost dreamily. "And despite everything, science fiction still exists?"

"It does," the figure said. "Though it rather blends in with 'mainstream' fiction. It must, given how things have...advanced."

Asimov shrugged. "Naturally." He licked his lips. "I'll not ask anything about my personal life. I don't want to know. But have any of my works survived?"

The figure smiled again, and nodded. "They have, Isaac. Vigorously so. _That_ book, for one. And they have every prospect of continuing to do so."

"Thank you," he said quietly and, the figure thought, humbly. "You have made me feel good, knowing that."

"Of course," the figure said. "I must say no more about the world of the future I come from. You know that."

"I do," he said. He put the book down on the table. "And of course, I know I must keep _this_   here."

"I'm afraid so," the figure said, glad it didn't have to ask. "Are you going to rewrite _this_ book, or do something totally different, now that you've seen it?"

Asimov gave the figure a very shrewd look. "Oh, my. _I've_   gotten immersed in a time-travel paradox!"

"You have," the figure said with a slight air of mischief. "After all, Isaac--why should _you_ be left out of the fun?" And Isaac Asimov laughed until the tears came down his cheeks.

"I rather think I'll remain agnostic about this story," he said. "There are good ideas here. Seventeen years is a long time. Memories fade."

" _Yours_ don't."

"Maybe not," he said, almost complacently. "I'll consider this."

"Fair enough." The figure stared at him. "You seem uninterested in why I'm here, Isaac--what my purpose is."

"I have been thinking very hard these past few days," Asimov said. "In case my guess regarding who you were was correct. And I've been thinking very hard, also, about some things Charles Xavier once said." He looked the figure right in the eyes. "I do not believe I need to know any more than I do. I'm sure my guesses have been in the ballpark. That will be enough for me to know."

The figure nodded. "Thank you, Isaac."

Asimov shrugged, and got to his feet. "I do not believe my continuing this visit will be of benefit to either of us," he said. "I cannot speak for _you_ , but it is getting extremely emotional for _me_. I feel blessed. Thank you for the invitation. I should imagine you broke regulations in asking me here."

The figure laughed. "Not exactly. But it was a self-indulgence. I needed it. If you knew everything, you might understand why." It paused. "And I may well do it again before the end, if the pressure gets too much."

Asimov smiled, and they shook hands. "It was good to see you," he said.

"Likewise, Isaac. Believe me." The figure watched Asimov make his departure, the car slowly winding its way down the mountain towards civilization. The figure was motionless for some time, then let out a huge sigh.

_Dammit--if anybody in this era should know about me,_ _he_ _should. And I wanted to see him. It will make no difference, one way or another. Yes, a self-indulgence. But I have the right to some. If anybody does, I do. The hell with it._

* * *

The birthday cake was large, and Maria thought it looked almost too good to eat. The eighteen candles on it were all burning brightly, and after the others had sang "Happy Birthday" to her, she expanded her lungs and blew them out effortlessly. There was a cheer--not just from her teammates at their table, but from the entire crowd at the Coffee-a-Go-Go. The crowd was more mixed than usual, and the fact was that the place had been Discovered with a capital D since word got out that the X-Men were _habitues_   of the place. Suburban college kids looking for an Experience seemed to be outnumbering the true Bohemians tonight, and Tom, the proprietor, noticed the change with a disgusted scowl.

"Petty bourgeoisie," he said dolefully. "This is a disaster for the Village. The barbarian hordes are invading."

Hank looked thoughtful. "Surely, _you_   people were the barbarian hordes?"

The proprietor shook his head. "Oh, no. _We_ were the true inheritors of civilization. We kept the candle lit of American nonconformism, radicalism, and opposition to the Social Lie. Now, cheap thrills and superficial Bohemianism are taking over. The last citadels of light are being snuffed out, one by one." And, muttering about the Roman Empire, he walked off in a state of despondency. The X-Men looked at each other.

"Gee-- _I_   always thought we were pretty civilized ourselves," Bobby said. "Are we _really_   so responsible for the end of the world as we know it?"

"I don't think so," Jean said, shaking her head. "Civilization would have been extinguished here, even if we had never entered the joint. The Village is changing. I was sensing it even before our unmasking. It's getting middle-class."

"Is that a bad thing?" Scott asked, genuinely puzzled as to why anyone would regard it so.

"Not really," Hank said. "But feeling yourself besieged by barbarians is a prerequisite for a certain type of Bohemian. It's actually been seen time and again in history. And always, the middle class rises--if it had been rising as steadily as historians are always _saying_   it's rising, it would be in the vicinity of Alpha Centauri by now. But Bohemianism always survives. It speaks to something permanent. American radicalism and Bohemianism will do just fine."

"But maybe the Coffee-a-Go-Go won't," Warren said, looking around at the college kids rubbernecking them--especially him. With no need to wear his harness, Warren looked liberated sitting in public, wings openly displayed behind him. "That would be a shame, I guess."

"Oh, I suspect it'll survive," Maria said. "But as Tom said--as a haven for middle-class kids searching for a Happening. The real action will move elsewhere."

"Do _we_   still hang out here?" Bobby asked. "Or keep looking for the 'real action'?"

"We stay," Jean said firmly. "At least, until it gets so changed that we no longer recognize it. But as long as Artesia holds court, and Bernard recites, the Coffee-a-Go-Go is eternal."

Speaking of which, Bernard--though clearly affected by the changed atmosphere--read an ode to Maria, who was touched, perhaps because she was able to understand it. Bernard spoke of alienation, and the inner light, and the transformation of consciousness going on in the world, and how the X-Men were affecting that. The team applauded with honest admiration when he was finished, though Maria felt privately that just maybe she wasn't as personally responsible for this brave new world as all that. Bernard came over with a cup of espresso, and sat next to Maria.

"My dear Miss Gianelli," he said. "I trust I did not embarrass you with my enthusiasm."

"I'm petty tough to embarrass," she said, smiling at him. "And in any case, I _do_ thank you."

He seemed pleased. "Oh, you're welcome, Miss. You _are_   a light-bringer."

"You think so?" she said, obscurely pleased at hearing this.

"Certainly. If Miss Grey is a ballad walking in the real world of us mortals, you are more like something out of Chaucer. I can well imagine you as one of the pilgrims to Canterbury."

"Which one?" Maria asked, genuinely pleased by the comment. "The Wife of Bath, I hope?"

Bernard shook his head. "No, no," he said. "No, Miss Gianelli, I do not see you as carnal. I see you as perhaps the Clerk. Or even Chaucer himself. Something bourgeoisie, in any event."

And hearing this, Maria Gianelli laughed and laughed and laughed.


	42. Maria and Hank

BOOK FIVE: PLOT AND COUNTERPLOT

* * *

Chapter Forty-two: Maria and Hank

* * *

Nancy Killian had seen them all. From her boarding-house on West Sixty-Seventh Street, you name it, she had seen it. Hookers, junkies, homos, down on their lucks, actors, musicians, clerks, secretaries, evangelists real and phony--not that there was any difference; only the Priests really counted--well, if humanity had it, she had seen it. But _this_ guy--!

Her first instinct was "down on his heels intellectual". An ex-professor, maybe. Or a writer whose best days were behind him. But he didn't seem to talk much, and those guys usually loved to talk. Maybe a homo--? But she shook her head. No, that didn't quite ring true. (And just how, she wondered, did homos manage before the days of dry cleaning?) It puzzled her as she showed him the room.

He was a big guy, imposing, with strange white hair and a moustache that pointed in a half-dozen directions at once, and an air about him that wasn't like anything she had ever seen. He looked the room over, and finally nodded.

"This will suffice," he said in a precise voice that had no accent, but still spooked Nancy a little. It was as if a computer had learned English--it had no individuality to it. "I will take it."

He paused, as if waiting for her to leave. Nancy scowled. Was she imagining it, or was he planning on just stiffing her right off--!

"Yes?" he asked, a puzzled tone to his voice.

"Uh--mister--you have a name, I suppose, Mac?"

He considered this, as though the idea had never occurred to him. "No, I do not have a name. I am merely a Stranger here."

"A Stranger, huh?" Nancy said sarcastically. "Well, Mr Stranger, in _these_   parts, when you rent a room you pay for it."

" 'Pay'?" the man asked, seemingly bemused by the word.

"Yeah," she said. "You know--lettuce, simoleons, the Queen's Shilling, dough--you know what I mean?"

"Oh!" the man said. "You mean money?"

"Very good!" she cried out in a tone of mock elation. "Money! Yes, Mr Stranger, I mean exactly that! Have you got it? Don't tell me you're a deadbeat."

"I do not know that word," the "Stranger" said, "but I shall pay you." He made a gesture with his right hand, and Nancy gasped as a huge wad of green bills suddenly appeared in it. "Take what you need, and do not disturb me again."

Take what she needed! Nancy Killian grabbed the entire wad, and ran off back to her apartment. There she examined it carefully. She half-expected it to be counterfeit--that wasn't unknown to her--but as far as she could tell, it looked, smelled, _felt,_ real. My God, there was--what? She counted it. Five grand! In nice fifties and twenties. Where had it come from?

Then it hit her. A magician! She relaxed. A showman, a charlatan. _Now_   it all made sense. _That_   was why he was hard to figure...show types could come from any background. That had been a clever illusion, all that dough popping out of his hand. She rubbed a twenty again. Damn--if this wasn't real, it'd do anyway. Five grand! This "Stranger" was here for the long haul. She should worry. God bless him. For this kind of dough, she could stand it even if he _was_   a homo.

* * *

He who called himself the Stranger lay down on the bed and thought. It was what he was best at, and his thoughts usually pleased him. This world--! It was quite fantastically primitive. And yet, the sheer strength of its mutations had attracted him from halfway across the Galaxy. He did not believe he had ever encountered such a thing before. The background "noise" of mutants was everywhere here. And over and beyond that-- He thought more, and realized more. There was-- _something._ Something quite beyond anything he had ever known. Something powerful, ancient, _primal._ This world, primitive as it was, held some secret. There was something about it that mattered. Why the gnats that walked on its surface should matter he could not say, but they did. And he would not leave until he had discovered why.

Of course, he was in no hurry. Time meant little to him. He had all he needed. He would therefore study this world at his leisure. This city seemed a sufficient spot in which to do that. It was large--by this world's standards, that is--it was cosmopolitan as things went here, and above all, it was the spot that housed the strongest concentration of mutant energy. This, too, was something he would learn about in due course.

He, of course, did not require rest or sleep as humans understood the term, but he did need energy transfers and periods of inaction to keep his thoughts fresh. Since he was in human form, it would not be totally inappropriate to "sleep"--just to see what it was like. He did so. When he awoke, four hours later, he realized with something of a shock that he had "enjoyed" it. He also realized that this form had physical needs. His--bladder?--required emptying. He walked down the hall until he found the small room in which this task was accomplished. Then he left this small dwelling and walked in the city, seeking mutant energies, but finding none. Well, he hardly expected to the first time out. The city itself--with its great extremes, its flagrant flouting of life--bemused him. He sensed sorrow and pleasure, in equal measure. These people, he realized, had extremes of experience far beyond what most sentient life on their level enjoyed. The Badoon, the Dire Wraiths, the Skrulls, the Kree, the Shi'ar--they all were more specialized species, and most members belonged to one more-or-less specific class or guild and experienced their lives within those narrow parameters. But these humans--! While they certainly had their classes, guilds, castes, they also had an indifference to them that bordered on what the rest of civilization would call anarchy. He paused. Was _this_   one of the reasons that this world had that potential he sensed? He wondered about that, walking back to his rooming-house. He wondered about that very much.

* * *

Wanda stared across the chess board at Magneto. He had finally broken down and taught her the rudiments of the game, and she found that she rather enjoyed it. Of course, she was no match for him. But she had her advantages all the same...

She made a move. Bishop to Queen-4. Magneto frowned.

"My dear Wanda--you've just played a move that Capablanca definitively discredited at Paris in 1927. You've lost, you know."

She smiled slightly. "We'll see, Magneto. Your move--?"

He smiled, and made the obvious counter-move. Then Wanda smiled even broader, and moved her King's rook to King's Bishop 3. Magneto seemed a bit flustered by this.

"What on earth are you doing, Wanda? You're leaving your Queen wide open to me in three moves."

"Am I?"

"Yes," Magneto said, but with less certainty now. They both made two moves, then Wanda moved her Queen's Knight pawn to Queen's Knight 5. And Magneto gasped.

"My God!" he said. "I'm blocked on my King's Knight's actions. I _can't_   take your Queen!"

"No," she said serenely. "And unless I'm mistaken, which I don't think I am, in two moves I take your Queen's Rook. Which means that _you're_ beaten."

Magneto looked at her with open-mouthed astonishment. "No," he finally said. "Wanda--you can't have seen something that Capablanca overlooked. That _I've_ overlooked. This is impossible."

"Maybe," she said. "I will say, however, that you can still escape with a stalemate if you move that pawn there--"

Magneto blinked, and did so immediately. Wanda moved her Queen up two ranks, and they stared at each other, nodded, and a stalemate was declared. Magneto laughed.

"My God--! Wanda--I've never seen anyone do that. You're _sure_   you've never played chess before?'

"No, Magneto. But I will confess, I _did_   cheat a little. I used my hex power on the board before the game began. That meant that I was able to--see--things you couldn't. I sensed possibilities unknown to others. I really can't explain it better than that."

Magneto looked at her very carefully. "That's amazing, Wanda. You can use your power for such fine-detailed work?"

She nodded. "Yes, Magneto. It surprised me, too, when I realized it."

He laughed softly. "Then that makes the game all the more interesting." He paused. "And I don't only mean chess."

She looked thoughtful. "I suppose so, Magneto. But it worries me. I don't like having so little idea of what my capabilities are."

"Nor do I." He looked very serious for a moment. "Wanda--"

"Yes, Magneto?"

"What do you know--or sense--about Shift? There is _something_ there."

She looked surprised. "How did you know about _that?_ "

"I'm not blind," he said. "In Hell's Kitchen, I sensed something. And in the battle with--ah, the Avengers--while I was dealing with _them,_ you encountered her again. It affected you. Something impressed itself upon you. Can you tell me what?"

Wanda frowned fiercely. "No, Magneto. I wish I could. It's just that something about her is, I don't know, important. Meaningful. The way she registers on my senses, my hex power, I can't say exactly what I mean but she doesn't _appear_   to me as other people, even other mutants, do."

"She doesn't seem similar to anyone else?"

"No," Wanda said. "Well, no, that's not entirely accurate. Marvel Girl also seems anomalous to me, but for different reasons. In _her_   case, I get a feeling of untapped potential. As if Jean Grey doesn't know who she really is. And of course, Xavier doesn't know, either. But with Maria I feel--I don't know. As if she's out of place somehow. That she's not quite in focus with the rest of the world." She shook her head. "And that's not right, either, but it's less wrong than anything else I could say."

Magneto stared intently at Wanda. "That's very interesting," he said at last. "Very interesting indeed. That you have seen that about Jean, that is. It is something I have felt ever since the day Maria Gianelli joined the X-Men. I wonder if _that_   could be cause-and-effect."

"I do not know, Magneto. All I know is that both girls are different from any of the other mutants I know, either X-Men or Brotherhood. And that includes you."

He smiled. "Including me. So be it. But Shift--that is very interesting what you say. Not 'in focus'. I wonder very much what that means."

"I don't know. I know only that I'm afraid to use a hex sphere when she is in my physical proximity. I fear that something might happen. And no, I can't be more specific than that."

Magneto looked very thoughtful. "The girl Maria. I'm almost glad, now, that she is Charles' problem, and not mine."

"So am I. Were she one of us, the tension would be overwhelming. I believe that that 'something' I fear would have already happened by now."

He grunted. "Indeed. And the fact that she and the Grey girl are in such close contact--there is _something_ going on. Until I know what it is, this truce serves us well."

"And then?"

He smiled. "Well, that depends on what that 'something' is, doesn't it, Wanda?"

"I suppose so." She looked at Magneto. "How did you feel, when they revealed their secret identities?"

He rose, walked to a window, breathed deeply. "I was disappointed, Wanda. I felt that he had stolen a march on me. I still do. I have lost an advantage against him. I could tell, when I met Maria, that when I spoke to her of being the Mutant Madwoman in the Attic, she was listening. Not enough to change her mind, of course. But she listened. There are other mutants like her. Some would accept the logic of so-called 'secret identities'. Others would feel as we do, that hiding our faces is playing the human's game. It is no longer an issue separating our groups. On the whole we have lost a slight strategic advantage, in my estimate."

"But did you admire them for doing it?"

He smiled. "Oh, yes. Perhaps they are inching a little closer to us, Wanda."

"And we, to them?"

"I'm not sure I like thinking that. But perhaps so."

"Maybe to the point where keeping our groups separate might someday be more trouble than it's worth?"

" _That_ is too remote a possibility to consider for now. But anything is possible in politics."

"Indeed." She looked at the board. "Another game?"

"Quite."

* * *

Maria was in the library, wishing this day would end. It was cold and dreary out, the day had been difficult, and she felt out of sorts. There had been a frustrating Danger Room session involving the Mad Thinker and the Puppet Master, and that had made the students realize they were no further along in finding the Thinker. The sequence itself hadn't gone very well, and for some reason all of the X-Men had been temperamental. Hank had gotten annoyed at Maria, Warren had snapped at Bobby, Scott had seemed impatient with Jean, and Jean had been worst of all, angry with all of them. Maria happened to know that in Jean's case, at least, it was That Time of Month, which excused her a bit. But even taking that reality into account, Jean had had better days. The Professor hadn't made things any easier by insisting that they repeat the exercise, and for once the team made its displeasure known to him, though of course they did as he bade. But everyone was still on edge even during dinner, and for once Carla wasn't her usual ebullient self when serving. And to cap things off, just after dinner there had been the largest anti-mutant rally in weeks outside the grounds, with honest-to-goodness torches lighting the crowd. Maria shivered at the thought of it.

She was reading _Silent Spring_   by Rachel Carson, and despite the book's intrinsic excellence--and, she felt, occasional howlers--she found she was reading the same sentence over and over. Finally, with a sigh, she put the book down and went to the window. The torches and crowds, thank God, were gone by now. They had been replaced by a light but steady snowfall. Maria wasn't sure if this was an improvement.

"Maria."

She turned, and saw Hank in the library. She smiled.

"Hey, Henry. How goes the battle?"

"Not well. In fact, to put it in plain English, lousy."

She walked over to him. "As bad as all that?"

"Worse." He made a face, then relaxed slightly. "Maria--I'm sorry for how I acted today in the Danger Room. I had no call to snap as I did."

"None of us was exactly at our scintillating best, Hank."

"No, none of us were." He paused. "Maria."

"Yes, Hank?"

"--I don't want to go on a date with Vera the librarian."

Maria felt her heart skip a beat. She could hardly breathe, speak. "Why not, Hank?" she said, in a voice that even by her standards was a croak.

"Because I love you."

She felt tears coming to her face. "Hank--"

"Hush, Maria." He touched her cheek with his hand. "Maria--I _love_ you. Period. I don't want to love anyone else. I don't care whether it's Platonic or not. I don't care. We could have a few minutes a week. Add the Bride of Frankenstein, and Marilyn, and anyone else you'd care to name, and that would give us close to an hour. Or if you don't want to do that, we'll stick to Anna. Maria-- _that_ would make me happy. The rest of the time, we'll kiss and hug and just _be_ there for each other. Am I elucidating this properly?"

"You're elucidating just fine, Henry."

"Good." He took off his glasses, and kissed her, embracing her in his arms totally. She couldn't respond in a regular sense, of course, but she was so emotionally overwhelmed it didn't matter. He broke off, and the tears were coming down so fiercely on her miserable wreck of a face that she wondered if it was going to melt. She wept helplessly, and Hank kissed her tears, her nose, her eyes, stroked her rough and ridiculous hair, and Maria Gianelli felt like every woman who ever lived and it didn't matter that she wasn't "really" being a woman. She was one, nevertheless, and she started shaking helplessly.

"Please, Maria. please. Don't cry. Dammit, you're making _me_   cry. Stop this."

"Make me," she said, and the joy in her absurd voice just made her cry all the more. "Hank--oh God, Hank--"

"Hush." He kissed her again, and she embraced _him_   until he cried out, and she released him and looked him in the eye with such a look of joy and delight that he flushed.

"Maria--we have a little time. A few minutes. Right now. Let's use them."

"Yes, Hank. Oh, God, yes!" And somehow--she could never quite remember how--they got to her room, and he was there, and he was undressing her, and she was naked in her ridiculous "regular" form, and he was nude as well, and he was so beautiful, and she told him so, and he stroked her body and told her that she was beautiful and then "Anna" was standing in front of him and his arms were around her, touching her breasts, her back, her bottom, stroking her hair, and she was a woman now, oh _God_   she was, and he knew it because his strong fingers were probing her womanhood, and her hands went out and felt his manhood and oh God it was so _big-_ -she had had no idea--

The pressure of time made every gesture, every caress, count for so much, and very soon he was laying her down on her bed, and then he was inside her, and it happened so fast, and it hurt but it didn't hurt too and Maria was crying helplessly and Hank was crying too and they were so in synch and her nails were clawing his back just as she always dreamed and they _were_   one and--

They dozed afterwards, Maria already being back to normal. Then they awoke, and kissed, and Maria looked at him with her hazel eyes brimming with tears. "We belong to each other now, Hank."

"Always," he said. Then, a little shyly: "Maria--I've never done that before. Did it--?"

Maria laughed. "Henry McCoy, don't you _ever_ ask me that question again!"

"All right, all right," he said meekly. "I am properly abashed. Maria--you're beautiful. So beautiful. In _any_ guise."

"Thank you, Hank. So are you."

"Oh? This lumpy body? These idiotic feet?"

"Hush. You know better."

"I know, Maria. But if I didn't try to be funny now, I'd be overcome. We can't have _that_   now, can we?"

"And why not, may I ask?"

Hank thought. "I don't know." He laughed. "OK, then! To being overcome."

"Hear, hear! We'll make 'We Shall Overcome' _our_   song."

"What will Dr King say?"

"I hope he'd say 'congratulations'."

"Sounds good to me." There was more along these lines, then Hank kissed her long and hard one more time, and by mutual agreement went back to his own room. Maria was blissfully happy, and unable to sleep, and didn't give a damn. She did frown when considering the condition of her bedsheet--she had bled a lot. Oh God--what _was_   she going to do--?

There was a knock on the door. Had Hank come back? She opened the door eagerly--

\--And saw Jean standing there, a smile on her face, and a fresh bedsheet in her arms.

"Well, well, well," Jean said, passing by Maria and entering the room. She looked at the bed. "Hmmph. You certainly bettered _me,_ Maria. But then, Anna is a bigger girl than I am. So I guess it's to be expected." She started to strip the bed, while Maria stood there wondering if she was having a particularly surreal dream.

"--Jean?" she asked haltingly. Jean looked up at her.

"Yes, Maria?" she asked in a brisk, no-nonsense manner. "I _am_   busy here."

"How did you--well, you know-- _know?_ "

"Oh, I've been expecting this for weeks. When I heard Hank gallumping back to the boy's wing with those clodhoppers of his, I knew that my wait was over. And I knew you'd need _this,_ " she said, brandishing the fresh sheet and making Maria's bed with it. "You're having it easy. When Scott and I made the Big Leap, I had to sneak over and and blunder through the linen closet. I was determined to help you avoid _that,_ at least."

"Thanks," Maria said, voice dubious. "My God, Jean--"

Jean finished her task, and rolled up the used sheet. "Don't worry--I'll dispose of the evidence." And she looked at Maria, and Maria looked at her, and the two girls ran into each other's arms, the sheet dropping to the floor, and Maria was forced to start crying all over again. It was some time before either of them was coherent.

Jean was flushed. "Oh, Maria--I'm _so_ happy for both of you!"

"Me, too," was all Maria could bring herself to say. "Me, too."

Jean frowned. "Maria--I just thought. Could you get pregnant, as Anna?"

Maria looked startled. "I'd be very surprised if I did, Jean! It takes awhile for an egg to be fertilized--oh, hours. And then it has to get into the womb...and I'm only 'Anna' for a few minutes at a time. I certainly don't have an egg or a womb as 'Shift'."

Jean nodded. "That's what I figured--but considering that we're mutants and all, who knows _what_   the hell is possible--or impossible--for us?"

"I guess so," Maria said. "But I don't see how _that_   one works out, even so. And if it should--God, Jean, I'd be so happy I wouldn't care! Having a baby has been my secret fantasy, one cherished all the more because it's impossible. Hank and I won't have much time together, of course--but we'll be out there giving it the good old college try all the same. If a million-to-one miracle ever occurs, so much the better. He deserves it."

"So do you," Jean said. "Oh, Maria--you deserve _everything!_ "

"I feel blessed with what I have now, Jean," she said. "Hank. You. The Professor. The others. I never thought I'd have anything. If it all ended tomorrow, I'm way ahead of the game."

"Nothing is going to end tomorrow."

"No, I don't suppose it is."

Jean picked the sheet up again. "Get some sleep, darling," she said. "You will. I _know._ "

"Good night, dear Jean." And Maria's head hit her pillow, and she was asleep before she could think of anything.


	43. Commercial Break

Chapter Forty-three

* * *

Charles Xavier was reading in his study. There had been a television crew at the Mansion earlier that day, for a CBS documentary. He had been aghast at the idea of interrupting studies for such a thing, but Fred Duncan had thought it would be a good idea, "good PR". So Charles had reluctantly acquiesced, and had a long interview with Walter Cronkite himself. He had interviewed the others as well, and Maria was on her good behavior, much to his pleasure. Hopefully, the days of wild rumor-mongering were over. On the whole, he thought the business had gone as well as it could.

He sighed. The latest _Vogue._ There was Jean on the cover, wearing a black dress and trying to smile sexily but modestly. He had advised against this, too, but Maria had twisted Jean's arm-- "hey, Red, this is _Vogue!_   You're going to turn it down?" And in the end, Jean didn't, and he had to admit she enjoyed seeing herself there. Jean was "human" enough for that. And, he also had to admit, she looked beautiful. Her smile was radiant. Maria had suggested to the magazine that they put _her_ on the next cover, and they mumbled something about "getting back to her".

"Prof! Hey, Prof!" Bobby's voice, coming from the living room.

 _Yes, Robert?_ he called to him telepathically.

 _Get in here, Prof! Fast!_ Charles wheeled his chair across the hall into the living room, and the whole team was gathered around the TV set. On it was a commercial, showing a cartoon of big-domed "mutants" cracking a whip over sweating, slaving humans doing manual labor. A voice was saying:

"--a world where we real people are no more than slaves. Is this the world _you_   want for _your_   children?" Then the picture dissolved into a split-screen, with the X-Men on one side and Magneto and the Brotherhood on the other.

"Why haven't the X-Men, the 'defenders' of humanity, fought the genocidal madman known as Magneto lately? Could it be they're not really the 'enemies' Xavier claims them to be?" Then there was a sinister caricature of himself, his head swelled up to twice its normal size, a demonic expression on his face as he was depicted using his mind to take over the thoughts, actions, of helpless humans.

"Charles Xavier can spy on the thoughts of anyone on Earth. He can manipulate anyone like a puppet. In Port Jefferson, Long Island, men are coming to their mental senses--men whom this Xavier mentally lobotomized in order to hide his secrets. Why shouldn't he do this to _you?_ "

Another dissolve, and on-screen came a violent caricature of Maria, looming over a group of cowering children. "Why does this 'Shift' spend so much of her time with children? Is _this_   who you want influencing _your_   children? Is _this_   a human being at all, in _any_   sense?"

The screen then went to a picture of Jean, caught in maybe the only unflattering pose she had ever been seen in. It was a picture from the press conference, and she had been laughing at one of Maria's jokes after the conference proper was over, and the picture made her look like the wicked witch from a fairy-tale. "Jean Grey. The 'good' mutant. The 'human' one. Best friends with this Shift. Girl-friend of the monster Cyclops, who is a constant menace to everyone he encounters. Do you really think _she_ is on _your_   side when the chips are down?"

A shot of a frightened human family, father, mother, two children, as shadows menaced them. "The mutants-- _all_   of them--believe that time is on their side. That the only real issue is the terms of our surrender. The only difference between the X-Men and Magneto is that the X-Men think our surrender should be peaceful over a generation or two, and Magneto thinks it should be obtained with blood _now._ They are closer to each other than either is to _you._ "

A last shot of Magneto. "He is the future, if the mutants continue to prosper. If we humans persist in admiring them-- _any_ of them. The Friends of Humanity are determined never to allow this future to happen. We hope you will join us in our endeavors." There was an address and phone number beneath, and the screen went black, and the regular program continued.

Warren shut the TV off, and the X-Men all looked at each other. "Well, well " Hank said softly. "I do believe I catch the whiff of a pogrom emanating in our general direction."

Jean laughed nervously. "That damned picture--!" She shrugged. "Oh, heavens-who'd take _that_ seriously?"

Scott looked unhappy. "God knows, Jean. There are millions of people in this country who have lost their moorings. They feel the world has turned against them in fundamental ways. Look at the resistance in the South to the Civil Rights movement. Something like this just might catch on."

Warren shook his head. "Not _this_ ad. It's just too stupid. Somebody at the 'Friends of Humanity' is an idiot. Imagine trying to make a bogeyman out of Jean!"

Bobby seemed nervous. "I hope you're right, Warren. But I wonder. I remember what happened at Port Jefferson. People are nervous. There's a lot of that out there."

Maria had been silent. "I am very tempted to go to the headquarters of these 'Friends of Humanity' and give them a piece of my mind."

Charles shook his head. "No, Maria. That's just what they'd want. No, we shall ignore this ad, and similar ones. Let those who will be influenced by them. We shall continue with our lives."

"If you say so, Professor," Maria said. "But this isn't going to be pretty." She looked at the others. "Cripes, what do I have to do, anyway? I've done my best to help kids. They like me. I like them. How can anyone twist that into something?" Charles though she was on the verge of tears, but she got control of herself. "To hell with it. I've got something to do." And she rose and left the living room. Hank followed her. Charles smiled to himself. He was aware that their feelings had crossed over to something more, and judging by the smiles on the rest of the team's faces, so did they. Jean looked radiant, and Warren, in particular, also seemed to take delight in seeing them together.

The next day or two were hectic. Crowds gathered outside the Mansion, and reporters wanted their reaction to the campaign of the Friends of Humanity. Charles released a dignified statement, saying in essence that the commercials were beneath contempt and that the X-Men would take no notice of them. The Fantastic Four and the Avengers strongly defended the X-Men, as did the President at a press conference. The mainstream press said much the same thing, and in particular the _Daily Bugle_ lit into the "Friends of Humanity", openly comparing their tactics and rhetoric to the Nazis, and reminding the population of the recent activities of the man who had called himself the Hate Monger, and whose real identity had been the subject of very bizarre rumors indeed. The sheer weight of the attacks on the "Friends" seemed to make its mark on the public, and their ads--on TV and in the papers--quickly became a rallying cry for almost everyone on the political spectrum. Both Martin Luther King and J Edgar Hoover showed a very rare unanimity in condemning them. Hoover, Charles knew, was always loyal to those who had been loyal to him, whatever their backgrounds. And Charles Xavier had always been a friend of the Bureau, for both pragmatic and patriotic reasons.

Their mail did show a spike in hate letters, but only a small one. They got more letters of sympathy--a lot more. When Jean appeared in public she was mobbed more than ever, and cheered on sight. When Maria visited children at Sloan-Kettering, there was a huge crowd outside cheering her, and the kids--and their families--went out of their way to make her feel welcome. When Warren flew over Manhattan, people would wave from windows and call his name. And _his_ mail did not change its basic character, much to his delight and the disgust of Maria and Jean.

Two weeks after the first commercial aired, it was clear the whole campaign had been a fiasco. The sheer Nazi-like tone of the ads had turned off almost everybody except the die-hard haters. This was showed most conclusively when Scott and Jean appeared together at a performance of _Fiddler on the Roof_   one Saturday night. As soon as they got into their seats they were recognized, and the audience rose to its feet and gave them a standing ovation. Scott--after a slight kick from Jean--got to his feet, Jean rose with him and they both waved, much to his discomfort. At the break, everyone in the theater tried to get their autographs. After the show, Zero Mostel himself invited them backstage, and regaled them for over an hour with stories so funny that Jean wondered if he was a mutant himself. Then she remembered that Mr Mostel had been blacklisted in the McCarthy days.

* * *

"Well, well, well. I _do_ hope you've fired your advertising agency." Ned Buckman almost sneered at Bolivar Trask, who responded with a sharp look at his friend.

"This isn't over yet," he rasped. "We've barely begun to fight."

"My dear Bolivar--the X-Men are celebrities now. The public loves their celebrities. And now, they're _wronged_   celebrities in the eyes of just about everyone. Well, you've certainly pissed. Maybe you should have _stayed_   on the pot."

The third man in the room got up and kicked a trash-bin against a wall out of sheer frustration. He turned savagely to Buckman.

"Christ!" he screamed. "And you want us to do exactly _what,_ you damned fop? Just give up? Let the muties thrive? Be 'celebrities'?"

Buckman shrugged, not permitting the man to get under his skin. "Have you a better suggestion, Graydon?"

Graydon Creed looked like he wanted to punch Buckman, but resisted the temptation. He was a man in his thirties, hard-looking but not unhandsome. He was the brains and bankroll of the "Friends of Humanity", and the bankroller of much of Bolivar Trask's work as well. He did not appear to be taking his failure in good stead.

"Unleash the Sentinels now, Trask," he said. "Now. Today. No more waiting. Not five more minutes waiting. Kill the damned muties."

Trask blinked. "My dear Graydon--it's not quite that easy. They're not ready yet. Not quite. Soon."

" 'Soon!' " Creed cried. "It's always 'soon' with you, Trask! To hell with soon. I want the Goddam muties dead!"

"If I sent them off _now,_ the Sentinels would be crushed and no muties would be dead at all. Is _that_ what you want?"

"How long?" Creed snarled.

"Not long," Trask said. "There is a slight problem with their internal balance controls--the things that make them unique, not all a hive-mind. That gives them the flexibility to fight independently of the Master Mold. That is being worked on night and day, I assure you. As soon as it is fixed, we shall be ready."

Creed grunted, but sat down. "I guess I'll have to accept that, then."

Buckman risked a slight smile. "And what of the great campaign to discredit the muties, Creed? Does that continue?"

Creed and Trask scowled at each other. "It would probably backfire," Trask said.

"I'm not sure that matters," Creed said softly. "It just feels so good to let them have it. Especially the Grey and Gianelli girls. They're so _good,_ don't you know!" And he almost exhaled fire, his contempt and disgust were so great.

"It doesn't matter now," Trask said wearily. "Once the Sentinels are ready, we'll unleash them, no matter the PR battle. Once the war starts and real devastation breaks out, it won't matter who's on the cover of _Vogue._ It'll only matter who wins. And that will be _us._ "

"Against the government?" Buckman said warily. "Against the Fantastic Four and the Avengers, too, if it comes to that? My God, Bolivar, this sounds like a coup, not just a war against the mutants."

"It won't come to that," Trask said stubbornly. "The others--the _humans-_ -will see reason in the end."

"They better!" Creed shouted, almost hysterically.

Buckman pursed his lips, looked curiously at Creed. "My dear Graydon--just _why_ do you have such a well, visceral, hatred of the damned freaks, anyway?"

Creed smiled tightly. "I never got along with my father."

* * *

Victor Creed, Graydon's father, was in the process of disembowelling a man alive. It was a part of his job, and he was a man who took great pride in his work. There was a pile of corpses at his feet, and the unfortunate gentleman in his hands was the last of them. The shrieks of the dying man filled the chalet Victor had attacked. Bodyguards. What an amusing concept.

About twelve feet in front of him was the owner of the chalet, eyes full of horror, tongue shrieking at the sight of what Victor had done. The last of the bodyguards writhed in Victor's arms, his stomach cut open, blood and guts hanging out. He gave a last shudder, and died. Victor dropped him to the floor with the others.

"Do I have your attention, Count Nefaria?" he said to the chalet's owner. That worthy just nodded numbly.

"You will not get away with this," Nefaria said. "You will _not._ Even if you kill me, you will not."

"Kill you?" Victor said, smiling. "Why on earth would I want to do _that,_ Count?'

Nefaria shook his head, still in shock. "For God's sake, what do you want?"

"To get your attention," Victor said cheerfully. He walked over to Nefaria, who shuddered and tried to get away, but Victor just pushed him back into his seat. "I presume that matter has been successfully accomplished." Nefaria merely nodded.

"Very good. Now--I have been sent by one of your rivals. That, surely, is obvious to you now. Just whom, exactly, is neither here nor there. The point is, he wants you to stop all association with the man known as Graydon Creed. No more money, no more support, no more _anything._ Is that understood?"

Nefaria nodded, still in shock. "Yes. God, yes."

"Very good." Victor looked at the carnage around him. "The message having been sent, I do believe I shall leave you to your own devices. Including cleaning up. Have a nice day." He turned and started to walk out.

"Wait!" Nefaria called out, and Victor turned around reluctantly.

"Yes?" he asked.

"What the hell is this all about?" Nefaria cried. "Why does your employer care about the damned muties? About my bankrolling Creed? What's this _about?_ "

Victor looked hurt. "Count--are you aware that _I_   am a mutant? You've gone and hurt my feelings."

Nefaria looked as if he was going to be sick, but Victor just laughed and walked away. At the entrance to the chalet, he turned one last time.

"What you're doing is bad for business." And he laughed again.

* * *

"You're certain Nefaria has been eliminated as a source of funding and support for Creed?" Wilson Fisk asked over the telephone. He heard a laugh on the other end.

"For _Graydon_ Creed, yes," the voice of Victor Creed said. "And I might say, Fisk, I really enjoyed doing this. Poor Junior. Just not getting the parental support he needs."

Fisk grimaced. "I am not interested in the ridiculous family issues of you and your son," he said tightly. "Just that you do your job."

"And it's done," Creed said cheerfully. "Any more instructions?"

"Not at this time," Fisk said. "Just keep in touch, if I do need you."

"Sure thing," Victor Creed said, and hung up. Fisk sighed. Good help was _so_ hard to find--! Oh, well. At least the job was done. Nefaria was no longer a factor. One less source of income for the madman Creed, and the fanatic Trask. Probably too little, too late, but Fisk could only do what he could do, no more, no less.

 _In the name of God, how much time do we have before the Sentinel War begins?_ he thought to himself. If it was days, weeks, that was one thing. If it was months, that was another. Trask would fix the technical glitches very soon. Would he push the button as soon as he could? Or was he waiting for something? Fisk snorted. Not for his ad campaign against the X-Men! _That,_ at least, had blown up in his face. And a good thing, too. Wilson Fisk regarded all forms of bigotry with distaste. Not for altruistic reasons, though somewhere inside him he wondered if just maybe he had a hidden strata of idealism. He sincerely hoped not. But anything was possible. No, his concern was business. Bigotry, pogroms--once started, they tended to destabilize things. Markets, commerce, suffered. He believed in live-and-let-live. If everyone was tolerant of each other's eccentricities--and vices--then he stood to make a fortune. There was money to be made in mutants, in the public's fascination for them. He merely had to find a way to reach for the money. That would come to him. Soon.

Fisk shook his head. Best to be cautious. Assume weeks. What could he do to blunt it, if it was too late to stop it? Warn Xavier? But he had had warnings, lots of them. Warn the government? Tell them the details of The Master Mold? Would they heed them? Who could he be _sure_   was not sympathetic to the Sentinels?

And he thought about that, and did something he never did--he laughed out loud, long and hard. Very long and very hard. He picked up the telephone.

"Hello, operator? Get me the Pentagon, please. Dr Raven Darkholme..."

* * *

The Stranger had more data points now. Mutants on this planet were objects of suspicion. That was not unique to Earth. Generally, sentient species in the process of evolution sparked conflict. The old usually did not give way gracefully to the new. But what _was_ unique about the Earth was the fascination the new had for the old. This concept of "celebrity"--only the anarchical leanings of this species could mask this genetic conflict as a form of entertainment. The Stranger was almost bemused. He picked up a magazine. The cover had a young mutant wearing a black piece of cloth. "Fashion". Females on this planet were fascinated by it. This was not unique to Earth either, but generally, females of the other species wore clothing specific to their caste or rank. It was only within it that they would utilize clothing and their bodies and hair and feathers and scales to achieve supremacy over their fellow females. Here on Earth, though-- The Stranger shook his head. Anarchy! All females wore more-or-less what they wished to wear. Movement between castes and ranks was rampant. Even the mutants--this girl on the cover of the magazine--even _she_   moved outside the rank of "mutant", to become--a celebrity. To non-mutants.

This puzzled him. Inevitably, the mutants would rise. The humans would fall. How could the humans feel affection for one so instrumental to this process? He had to answer this question, he felt, before he could concentrate on the others. And always, hovering just out of his vision, was the Great Mystery on this planet. What was _that,_ anyway? His excitement rose within him. When he knew that, he would know much--and not just about Earth, either. He began to wonder if this planet would help him reach the culmination of all his long labors. Still, he needed more data.

_There are still things I do not understand. Let me discover these, a day at a time. And I have the time._


	44. Farewell My Lovely

Chapter Forty-four

* * *

"It's OK, Hank. It's OK. Honest, it's OK." Maria had Shifted back in a hurry to her normal form, and was kissing Hank again and again, stroking his body with her rough hands and hugging him, holding onto him for dear life. Hank was shuddering, and she thought she heard him sob in sheer humiliation and shame.

"OK?" he asked in a broken voice. "I have made a total fool of myself--a complete idiot--"

"Henry McCoy, you _stop_   that!" Maria said, voice stern. "I said it's OK, and I _mean_ it! After all, we only have a few minutes. It's no wonder that you might--" She stopped, and couldn't use the word "impotency" to describe the fiasco that had just happened. But she also knew that Hank's morale was at a very delicate juncture right now, and she had to respond _just_   right.

Hank lay on his back, still shaking. "Maria--I feel like the biggest idiot in the history of the world. I could kick myself from here to Albany and back, and feel that I had deserved every moment of it. You give me your total devotion and love, and I react like--"

Maria kissed him again. "Hank," she said, and something in her tone finally got his attention, because he seemed to relax, and looked closely at her.

"Yes, Maria?" he said gently, and she stroked his forehead and kissed his brows very slowly.

"Hank, maybe we weren't quite ready for--well, other Shift forms here in bed."

"I should say unquestionably that that assessment was correct."

Maria sighed. "It's my fault. I figured you'd be delighted to be in bed with Marilyn. And after all, the more variety I offer, the more we can actually do it."

Hank shut his eyes. "I know, Maria. I know. My reaction was very selfish, and unfair to _you._ "

"No! No, Hank! There is no 'fair' or 'unfair' here. It just happened! It's really pretty sweet, actually. We were both so overwhelmed after my encounter with you, as Anna. I hoped to give you more pleasure. But it seems--" She risked a smile. "Hank, you aren't cheating on her when I'm Marilyn. We're both the same girl."

Hank gave out with a deep sigh. "My conscious mind knows that, Maria. But it appears that subconsciously, I feel I'm being unfaithful to you. And the result--"

Maria coughed. "Yes. Indeed. Unfortunately."

"My God," Hank said in a voice so full of disgust that Maria would have smiled, had it not been so serious for him.

"Hank--all it means is that you're officially a man now. That doesn't happen when you lose your virginity. It happens when _this_ happens. An open conspiracy between every male on earth, and one they never talk about."

Hank looked oddly at her. "And just how do _you_ know this, Maria?"

"I read a lot," she said casually, and had the joy of seeing Hank McCoy laugh out loud.

"I surrender, dear," he said, arms out in a position of supplication. Maria got to her knees and, looming over him, stuck her tongue out.

Hank looked thoughtful. "I do believe, my darling Maria, that that is the sexiest position I have ever seen you assume."

She scowled playfully and gave his member a little swat.

"Just remember--there's more where _that_ came from."

He nodded sagely. "I know, I know. Actually, I like the feel of your hands on my John Henry. It's like living sandpaper, used for a positive purpose. It's _very_   enlightening."

"Better than _your_   hand, huh?" she said, leering, and he put his hands on her bottom.

"You think you're too damned invulnerable for a good hiding. Don't be too sure of that."

Maria gave a mock squeal of alarm. "You brute! You _are_   a beast!"

"You're just discovering that?" Hank kissed her unformed breasts very passionately, then sighed and lay back. "But seriously, Maria. We _are_   going to have to work on this. I can't be allowed to cheat you of _your_ pleasure just because of _my_ hang-ups."

"We'll work on it, Hank," Maria said softly. "We have the rest of our lives. I'm here for you. Always."

"Yes," Hank said, his face a study in quiet bliss. "The rest of our lives."

"Hank--" Maria said.

"Yes, Maria?"

"Do you believe in happy endings?"

" 'Believe in'." Hank paused to consider this. "Define your terms."

"Happy ever after?"

"Ever after? 'Ever'? No. We are all mortal, as the late President Kennedy famously said, and so tragically demonstrated. Someday, Maria, sooner or later--and it will probably be sooner, given our chosen field of endeavor--we shall be separated. As Scott and Jean shall be. As every couple in love shall be. That's why it's so precious. Because we _are_   mortal."

Maria considered this, and finally shook her head. "No, Hank. No. Warren and I had this discussion once, and _he_   was the optimist then. Now, though-- No. I believe in happy-ever-after. I believe in God, after all, even if you don't. That means I believe in a transcendental realm where there is no more suffering." She paused briefly. "And somehow, Hank, I believe--I _have_   to--that life here, in this world, _our_   world, isn't defined by tragedy. That death and defeat _aren't_   inevitable. Don't ask me what I mean, because I honestly don't know. But we are in the hands of a fate, a destiny, that will enable us to overcome in the end." She smiled. "Remember, darling? 'We Shall Overcome'. Our song. And we _shall._ "

Hank laughed, and kissed her cheek. "So be it, as someone-or-other is wont to say! We _shall_   overcome, Maria! I have faith in your faith."

"I'm serious, Hank,"

"So am I."

She smiled, feeling happy and content. "Good." She jumped out of bed. "And now that _that's_   been settled, maybe I can move matters along on a more mundane plane. I am going to walk over to that closet there, and Shift into one female form after another. You tell me which ones you like, and which ones you don't particularly like. That way, we can zero in on just what turns Mr McCoy on. And I can be _any_ of them--for a few minutes." She licked her lips. "And still be me. Remember that, Hank--I'm _always_ me."

Hank nodded, looking intrigued and, Maria thought, a little intimidated. The poor boy. She walked to the closet, and Shifted, walking back into the room as Annette Funicello.

"Well?" she said, grinning vacuously.

"Agghh!"

"Not into surfing, huh?"

"Please--no more Mickey Mouse stuff!" Maria laughed and went back into the closet.

And emerged as Brigitte Bardot. "Eez thees any bettaire?" she said, in what even to her ears was an outrageously bogus French accent. Hank pursed his lips and shook his head.

"Not quite right for me, I don't think. Next."

She sighed, and went back. Emerging as Sophia Loren. "How about _her?_ "

"You're getting warmer," Hank said. Maria smiled, feeling encouraged. Back--and then out again, as Mae West.

"Why dontcha come up and _see_ me sometime?" she said, lips parted, eyes sparkling. Hank almost tipped the bed over.

"Too blatant! I like some mystery to my women!"

"Your 'women'?" Maria said, voice cross even as Mae. "Plural?"

Hank shrugged. "You know what I mean, Maria. Any woman who piqued my interest, as you have done for good and for all. Any Shift forms would have to appeal to that part of me that likes mystery."

She nodded, as if seeing the logic of this. "OK, then. How about--" And she emerged from the closet again as the Scarlet Witch.

Hank's eyes almost popped out of his head. "Maria!"

She grinned mischievously. "I've always wondered how you boys _really_ felt about her." She looked closely at Hank's body under the sheet. "Hmm--looks like we have a winner."

Hank pulled the sheet over him a little more. "Purely involuntary, I assure you."

"That's why it's so telling."

He sighed. "Maybe so. But believe me, I don't want to--cripes, McCoy, say it- _-screw_   this form."

"OK," Maria said with mock disappointment. She went back to the closet. And had a sudden terrible thought. _No. I'm crazy to even consider this._ But she hesitated. Did she dare? Was it fair? To anyone? Hell, no. But she had to know. _Had_   to. She knew she was going to do it. She emerged from the closet--

\--As Jean Grey.

Hank looked as though he had been kicked in the balls. And maybe that's just what Maria had done to him. She already regretted doing this, wish she could have undone it.

"Maria--what are you doing?"

She walked over to Hank. "I had to be sure. You're not tempted, Henry? Not at all?"

"God, no! Maria--please--"

"Of course." She returned to the closet, emerged as herself and crawled back into the bed. Hank looked at her. She felt sick at her action, and knew he'd never understand.

"Hank--I _had_ to do that. Just once, for the record. Do you understand what I'm saying at all?"

Hank came to. He framed Maria's face in his hands, looked very serious.

"Maybe. Maybe I see that, Maria. Just once. But please-- _please-_ -never do that again."

She felt tears come to her eyes. "No, Hank. of course not. Never again."

"Thank you." He kissed her, and lay back. "OK," he said in a deliberate effort at light-heartedness. "What does the experiment tell us, then?"

"That Wanda turns you on. Annette doesn't. It seems you prefer brains and mystery. More than sheer animal attraction."

"Wanda isn't exactly lacking in _that._ "

"But there are others who have more." She looked serious. "OK, Hank. I think we can work from here. And maybe the day will come when you won't feel like you're cheating." She flushed as much as she could. "Assuming, of course, that I don't screw up like I just did. I'm going to have to apologize to her. She'll understand, of course--she's a gal, after all. But I will have to apologize."

"That's between the two of you." Hank shut his eyes. "We'll have to continue the experiments."

"Aye, aye, sir." And they dozed off together, Maria dreaming of constantly Shifting like a pinwheel, but always coming back to Jean's form in the end, no matter what she did to try to escape.

* * *

Charles Xavier sat at the far end of their theater, watching the make-shift stage the students had set up. Maria had written a play for them to perform, as part of her English class. The audience was comparatively small--himself, Frank Gianelli, the Greys, including Sara. Dr Asimov, who had insisted on being present. Mrs Drake, William having declined. Stevie Hunter had wandered over from Salem Center. A young lady named Zelda--apparently, a friend of Robert's. And, to Charles' astonishment, two remarkable figures who called themselves Artesia and Bernard, apparently from the infamous--and, he sometimes thought, mythical--Coffee-a-Go-Go.

Scott, in suit and tie, sat at a desk. A narration he had already entered into a tape-recorder played over the theater.

"...it was a day like any other. I hadn't had a client in so long my bank balance was about to sue me for desertion. The wind from the Hudson was cold, the wind from the Atlantic hot. It balanced each other. Life was OK. But then, life was always OK. That's the first thing you learn about life. Don't expect too much from it, and it will treat you nice. My name is Summers. I'm a private-eye."

The stage was dark, indicating night. Maria had intended for the whole play to take place in total darkness, symbolizing the evil that bore down on Scott Summers, P.I. Hank had suggested that it might be nice for the audience to be able to see what was happening onstage, and after Maria had chided him for being a Philistine, did turn the lighting up just enough for the action to be understandable, though she regarded this as a compromise.

There was a knock at the door, and Scott said come in, and Jean entered, wearing a 1940s black dress that hugged her figure, her hair over her eye in a Veronica Lake peekaboo style. The narration continued:

"I had always dreamed of a dame that looked like this coming into my office. And here she was. Trouble. I knew that right away. The kind of trouble that made you want to dive right in, not caring if you ever came back up. She had eyes that could light up Central Park at night, and lips that you felt could enunciate anything they wanted, in a language all their own. She walked in and sat down." Which Jean did, crossing her legs sexily and casually.

"Mr Summers," Jean said. "I understand you help people in trouble."

"Maybe," Scott said. "Just what seems to be _your_   trouble, Miss--?"

"Grey," Jean said. "Jean Grey. I'm searching for my sister."

Charles saw Sara flush, but also trying hard not to laugh. Scott looked at Jean. "Uh-huh. You don't say, Miss Grey. Is she missing?"

"Yes. She ran away from home months ago. My parents are frantic. Finally, I volunteered to come to the big, bad city and try to find Emily."

"Emily Grey," Scott said. "It's just the two of you?"

"No, there's an older one, Sara. But she's married, and has a family of her own. So really, Mr Summers, it's all up to _me._ " And Jean leaned forward over the desk, emphasizing her breasts in the tight-knit dress, eyes appealing to Scott. The narration continued.

"Seeing her there, leaning forward in a pose that would make the Pope kick up his heels, I knew that I had to help her. She had her hooks into me, but good. I asked her for more information."

"Well, Mr Summers, Emily has always been a little wild--" Jean went on, giving Scott what he needed to know about "Emily". And soon enough, the scene shifted to what Maria intended to be a nightclub, with some 40s jazz playing softly in the background and Hank--the club's proprietor--sitting at a fancy table. The narrative continued.

"--I had had dealings with McCoy before. The Fat Man, we called him. The puller of a hundred strings, the keeper of a hundred secrets. None of which he'd let loose, unless you greased his palm. And maybe not even then. He was known to welsh on debts and on information. But if anyone in New York knew where Emily Grey was to be found, it was him." Hank had insisted on padding his middle with a pillow--he regarded the "Fat Man" sobriquet as an insult--and after much discussion, Maria had permitted it.

Hank smiled in a superior fashion at Scott, and looked interestedly at Jean. "Yes, Summers?" he asked archly. "You're not going to introduce me to your charming companion?"

"Miss Jean Grey," Scott said. "Miss Grey--Henry McCoy. The owner of this joint. You can't trust him further than you can throw him."

"You might be surprised about _that,_ " Jean said. "But pleased to meet you, Mr McCoy."

"Likewise," Hank said. "And just what can I do for you, Miss Grey?"

"My sister, Emily. Do you know where she is, Mr McCoy?"

Hank frowned. "Well, now, Miss Grey. Maybe I do, and maybe I don't. Information is a valuable commodity. And after all, there are eight million people in New York. One lone girl can get lost so easily. What is it worth to you for me to find out?"

The three of them haggled, and finally Hank directed them to a shyster lawyer. "Warren Worthington," Hank said. "Don't let his looks deceive you. He may look angelic, but he'd sell his mother out for a handful of magic beans."

The scene shifted to another dark office--really the first one, with different chairs--and the narration continued. "--Worthington. I had had a few encounters with _him._ None of them very pleasant. He liked to play rough. A bad rep with the cops and newspaper boys. Liked to defend clients who weren't innocent. When you saw him, you knew why. A cruel smile. A real pretty-boy, but eyes like hard diamonds. No warmth in them. He didn't look pleased to see us." Maria had induced Warren by threats of bodily harm to re-don his harness, just this once, and he had finally agreed, with not too good a grace. Maybe that was why he seemed so convincing as the crooked lawyer. He gave Scott and Jean his wicked smile, and invited them to sit down.

"My sister, Emily," Jean said. "I've been told maybe you can find her, Mr Worthington?"

"My time is valuable, Miss Grey," Warren said. "Just how can you pay me, anyway?"

Jean didn't miss the hidden offer in his words, but pretended not to. "I have some money, Mr Worthington. I can pay you well."

Warren smiled. "We'll see about that, Miss Grey." He offered them a drink, which they accepted. In fact, it was Dr Pepper, but there was no need for the audience to know _that_. After some perfunctory discussion, Warren talked around the point until Scott got cross and stood up across the desk from him.

"Let's not waste any more time, Worthington," he said. "You're rotten. You know it, and we know it. You know we know it. Why waste time?" He leaned over threateningly at Warren. "I'm getting tired of people playing games. If you know where the sister is, you tell me now like a good boy before I lose my temper."

"Well, we can't have _that_   now, can we?" Warren said with a sneer. "By the way--are we getting a little sleepy, both of you?"

"What did you put in the drinks?" Scott said, falling to the floor. Jean went limp in her chair.

"Oh, nothing very much," Warren said. "Just enough for a little nap."

The narration went on: "Fooled by the oldest trick in the book. And I fell for it, like a sap. With this dame there to watch it. Well, I deserved it. I don't know how long we were in dreamland, but when we came to I saw a sight I had hoped never to see again. The Kid. As cold as ice. Worthington's flunky. He lived to inflict pain. And he was good at it, too."

The scene shifted to a basement room, and Bobby stood over Scott, tied up in a chair, with Jean looking on with a horrified expression. Bobby looked over at Warren, smiling in the background.

"Can I start now, Mr Worthington?" he asked, slowly bringing his hand around to Scott's face.

"You see?" Warren said with a smirk. "I'm afraid that the Kid enjoys inflicting pain every bit as much as _you_   two don't enjoy receiving it. And I'm afraid--" he looked hard at Jean-- "that his specialty is inflicting it upon females." Warren shrugged. "What are we going to do with him, anyway? Just an impetuous kid."

"Do you want me to talk?" Scott said, struggling with his bonds.

"Heavens, no," Warren said. "What on earth could _you_ tell us, anyway? No, I'm afraid the Kid just likes what he does, and I feel it's been too long since he's indulged himself." Warren drank from a glass, looking satisfied. "You two might scream for help, or beg for mercy, if you choose. It would amuse me."

And at that moment, a girl walked into the room. The audience gasped, because the girl was a dead ringer for the young Ida Lupino. Maria had enjoyed this Shift form, and hoped the scene would be over before she Shifted back. "Emily!" Jean screamed, and the girl looked at Jean, eyes wide open.

"Jean!" Maria turned to Warren. "Dadsy-wadsy--what's going on here? What's _she_   doing here?" She walked up to Bobby. "What are you doing, Kid? You let them go at once!"

"This is business, baby," Warren said. "You don't interfere."

"But that's my _sister!_ " Maria wailed. "Dadsy-wadsy, you let her go _now_!"

Confusion reigned, with Warren and Maria arguing, Bobby confused, Hank walking into the scene for no particular reason but that Maria thought his presence was vital as a hulking background menace, and Jean slowly "undoing" Scott's ropes with her TK powers while trying not to make it too obvious. There had been some discussion of this scene. The others--particularly Jean--felt it was too amateurish and unlikely. Maria defended it by citing the Brechtian creed of deliberate anti-naturalism and alienation of the audience. The others had finally agreed, especially about the alienation part.

In the event, Scott was freed, Warren fled with Bobby, Hank grabbed some money from Warren's safe and fled himself, and Maria and Jean had a tearful reunion in which "Emily" explained that she truly loved Warren despite all his faults and wasn't coming home to Annandale-on-Hudson with Jean. Unfortunately, at the end of the scene "Ida Lupino's" time ran out, and Maria was forced to Shift to Bette Davis, much to the approval of the audience.

Everything ended happily, even to the point of Jean and Scott kissing and walking off hand-in-hand, and Charles and the rest of the audience gave the cast a long and appreciative round of applause. Maria frowned--there had been a farewell piece of narration that somehow hadn't gotten played--but on the whole, she looked satisfied as she Shifted back to normal. Charles felt privately that if she had been trying for Brechtian alienation of the audience, she had succeeded admirably. But he also had to admit he had had a good time, despite himself, and the rest of the small audience agreed.

Bernard understood Maria's ambitions immediately. "Brecht is a very difficult man to emulate," he told her after the play was over. "To combine him with Chandler is dangerous. But I think the experiment was worth trying. I felt it was in sync with you six, anyway."

Maria smiled her appreciation of the compliment--she _assumed_ it was a compliment--and listened also to Artesia explaining to Hank that while he was a natural player, she wasn't sure that this was the perfect venue for him. Maria smiled tightly, though secretly she agreed. She could do better than this. But even Shakespeare had to start somewhere.

* * *

That night, Maria went to Jean's room and confessed her folly to her best friend. Jean was silent for a long time after Maria told her about Shifting into her form with Hank present.

"I rather wish you had avoided doing that," Jean said. "I really do. I'm not very happy about it. But I can see how you couldn't resist." She shook her head. "I'm not sure _I_ could have, either." She went over to Maria and hugged her. "You're forgiven, you big jerk. But hey--let's not make a habit of doing this, OK?"

"Never again," Maria said, holding up her hand. "I swear."

Jean smiled. "Did you by any chance Shift into the Scarlet Witch?"

Maria looked startled. "How did you know _that?_ "

"Hah!" Jean cried out in triumph. "I knew it! And how did Mr McCoy react to _that?_ "

"Pretty enthusiastically," Maria said with a smile.

"I'm not surprised," Jean said. "She's _very_   attractive, after all."

" _You_   can afford to say so," Maria said.

"Damned right I can." The girls talked a few more minutes, and Maria went to bed. She was tired, and still felt opening-night jitters. Hank stayed away this evening. Maria fell asleep immediately, dreaming of Ida Lupino and being in--and watching--old movies at the same time.

* * *

The Stranger walked the streets of this human city, still sensing the mutations around him. Perhaps they were _so_ prevalent on this world that they made it difficult for him to seek out individual mutants. The numbers made it difficult for them to stand out against the mass. He would consider this more.

He needed to examine the city more carefully than this two-dimensional mode of transport afforded him. He rose into the air, looking down on the streets, the buildings. Sensing so much from the atmosphere of this place. The "anarchy" he saw here. It made things difficult to gauge. Just when he felt he knew how the humans thought, reacted, to stimuli, something else would happen and he realized he still knew nothing. For instance: one day, he noticed some humans with various shades of brown skin, and they were engaged in a street confrontation with various humans of lighter, pink-colored skin. One of the dark-skinned humans had brandished a sharp weapon, and a fight ensued in which one of the lighter-colored humans was wounded. Therefore, it seemed logical that conflict between the humans based upon skin color was a basic fact of their social _mores._ And yet--he also saw, on a green field, two different groups of humans, wearing contrasting types of uniforms, engaged in an activity that involved hitting a ball with a stick. At first, the Stranger, as he watched, assumed it was a form of armed conflict. That they would graduate from hitting the ball with the stick, to hitting each other. But as he watched further, that appeared not to be the case. The humans would hit the ball, and run to destinations that appeared fixed. The group of humans in the other uniforms would manipulate the ball, occasionally throwing it or applying it to the first group, but no lethal damage seemed to be administered. He finally came to the conclusion that it was a form of social ritual, the exact nature of which he couldn't quite appreciate.

But the groups consisted of individuals of both the dark-skinned variety, and the light-skinned ones. And here, they both joined together against the other group, also consisting of both shades of skin. The Stranger found it all very hard to fathom. Especially when the crowd of humans watching the ritual also consisted of individuals from all skin shades. The enthusiasm of the crowds watching made it seem likely that this was a sort of mock combat. The Stranger might have thought that the humans had perfected a method of using mock combat as a means of weaning themselves away from actual war. But, as he had noticed almost immediately, that was far from being the case. Real war proliferated among the humans. There had been a great conflict ending just twenty of their years ago that had been particularly savage. The Stranger could _feel_   the emotion, the heat, from that conflict. The Earth itself groaned beneath its memory.

What was this? The Stranger looked about him, and saw humans pointing up at him. What was he doing, anyway? Anything amiss? He didn't think so... Then he looked about, and realized that the humans did not have the ability to examine their world in three dimensions. They were forced to use locomotion only in two. No wonder he was attracting attention. He found an empty stretch of sidewalk, and lowered himself to the earth again. This was frustrating. It made his work more difficult, and he already felt that this world was one of the most difficult he had ever encountered. His understanding of even basic human motivations seemed more elusive than ever. And if he couldn't understand the humans, how could he understand the mutants?

* * *

"Something is out there," Magneto said, almost to himself. Wyngarde's ears picked up. There was something in their leader's voice, as he had spoken those words--!

"What do you mean, Magneto?" he said. Magneto shrugged.

"I cannot say, Wyngarde," he answered. Magneto had maps spread around him, an electronic screen on in front of him that showed electromagnetic impulses throughout the tri-state area. He watched the impulses coming on the screen, studied the maps, and kept shaking his head. "But there is _something._ Something I have never encountered before."

"A mutant, master?" the Toad said, cringing in the corner but intrigued nonetheless by what he heard in Magneto's voice.

"Possibly, Mortimer," Magneto replied. "I think so. I do not see what else it could be. It seems to be located in the West Side of Manhattan, but the readings indicate that it travels widely, as well. I need to triangulate more. When I am ready--well, we shall investigate. And see what we shall see."

Wyngarde smiled. That would be a blessing! _Any_   form of action would be a blessing. He was, he had to admit, bored. Magneto seemed to sense this, because he actually smiled at him.

"Ah, Jason. I know we have been idle for far too long. I feel the lack of action, too. Well--it shall be coming to an end soon."

"You have a mission for us?" Wyngarde said with unfeigned enthusiasm.

"I do, Magneto said. "Does the name Bolivar Trask mean anything to you?"

Wyngarde considered. It _did_ seem to ring a bell. "Cybernetics, surely? A wheel in automation, robotics? Yes, Magneto, I do believe I have heard the name."

"Excellent, Jason, excellent!" Wyngarde winced inside. He was always suspicious whenever Magneto used his first name. And he hadn't forgotten the "chat" Magneto had had with him, at the time of the debacle with Cyclops and Shift. "And _you_ are going to find out what he's up to."

"Oh? He's up to something?"

"He is. I am getting warnings from various sources. So, too, has Xavier. But Charles is playing his cards close to the vest--as, indeed, am I. But it is time for that to change."

Wyngarde's brows rose. "You mean our truce is about to become an alliance?"

Magneto smiled again. "That's quite perceptive, Jason. Quite perceptive indeed. I believe so. We need to establish communication with Charles. Without being _too_   blatant about it--for prestige's sake, if no other reason. I shall not go to him, hat in hand. No, a subtler approach is called for. I want you to find and contact a reporter for the _Daily Bugle._ Jameson, whatever his faults, despises pogroms and bigotry. He is therefore, at this time, an asset to us. And he has assigned a reporter to the story of Bolivar Trask. I want you to approach this reporter and find out what he knows."

"Why will he tell _me?_ " Wyngarde said, genuinely puzzled.

"Oh, I think he will," Magneto said with a chuckle. "For the same reason that he'll help you to establish contact with Charles Xavier."

"Why on earth will he do _that?_ " Wyngarde asked, exasperated. Magneto looked at him slyly.

"Because his name is Frank Gianelli." Wyngarde stood there, feeling like he had been struck across the face. Then he laughed.

"By God!" And he laughed out loud. "Magneto--I do believe that you're a genius."

Magneto shrugged. "You're only realizing this _now?_ " And the two men did something Wyngarde could never remember their doing before--sharing a genuine, unforced laugh.


	45. Pillow Talk

Chapter Forty-five

* * *

Yes, they had to hurry when they made love. But Maria this evening kept her form as Anna for a couple of minutes after Hank had climaxed inside her, feeling more feminine that she had ever believed possible. Her body was shaking, and her nipples were as hard as rocks, and Hank's body on top of her felt so _right,_ and she was crying because she still felt a sense of awe and wonder at the miracle of this happening at all. The days of Torches and Pitchforks seemed another existence. Then she could feel the time ending, and she reluctantly spoke into Hank's ear.

"Darling--you have to leave me." Hank kissed her one last time, and slowly, but with infinite tenderness, pulled himself out of Anna's body, his manhood sliding out an inch at a time, a process that took quite a while, given how he was...constituted. Maria felt very lucky indeed.

Then Shift lay there, and Hank lay next to her, and they kissed for a long time, and Hank contemplated the condition of his tool, now back to its "normal"--but still impressive--dimensions. "Thank you for not spoiling me," he said gently.

"I'm delighted to oblige," she answered. "But how am I doing that?"

"Well--if we had a normal relationship, I'd just be coming inside you all the time. _All_ the time. I'd run out of stamina and sperm. It might even become humdrum and routine. This way--it retains its magic. I think of it all the time, and anticipate it all the more."

Maria considered this. "Hank--it would never be 'routine' for _me._ _Never._ Your touch, your breath, your entering me--your coming inside me--if I was 'normal', I'd feel this way when I was seventy. I know that."

"Perhaps so," he said. "I hope so. I'd try to feel that way. But it seems that everything becomes routine in the end." He paused. "I wonder why this is the case. Why _does_ experience make everything seem routine, sooner or later? Why _can't_   we maintain that sense of it always being the first time? Not just sex, but everything. We just don't seem to be cut out for peak experiences--at least, not for long."

Maria thought about it. "Maybe the saints can do that, Hank. Experience everything anew, every time. Maybe that's _why_   they're saints."

Hank seemed to like this idea. "Maybe Einstein felt that way, thinking about the Universe. _Always_   new. Maybe Reed Richards thinks like that. I like to think so."

"I wonder if women who have babies get tired of it," Maria said. "I couldn't imagine that, Hank! Each one would be such a little miracle--such a _blessing._ God, I wish I could have a baby." And she slipped beneath the sheet, leaving a poor, embarrassed Hank McCoy to hem and haw.

"Maria--you must realize that isn't going to happen."

She peeped out from the top of the sheet, just her grainy hair and hazel eyes staring up at Hank. "Oh, I know. I know. But _if-_ -" She smiled beneath the sheet. "--if...I'd want a whole litter. A Hank, Jr. A Maria. An Anna. A Charles. A Scott. A Jean. For starters."

Hank took a deep breath. "You'd be a busy girl."

"Damned busy."

He gave a funny laugh. "You make it sound so real, Maria. So _right._ What would they be like?"

She considered this, still staring at him with only her eyes above the sheet. "Well, now, let's see. Hank, Jr. Takes after his Daddy. Smart. Taller than you--he'd get those genes from _me._ And better eyesight--no glasses. But brains, brains, brains."

"And Maria?"

"She's get her brains from _me._ Which means, they're still pretty damned good. But Maria--I see her as being rather shy, actually. Quiet. Devout. Maybe become a nun. Maybe a bit bullied by the other kids. Always coming to me crying. And I'd spoil her as a consequence."

Hank made a mock-stern face. "Never spoil children, Maria."

"He said!" Maria laughed. " _You'd_   spoil them shamelessly. They'd get away with murder."

Hank sighed, deflated. "Yes, yes, I know. _You'd_ have to discipline them. I couldn't."

"That's right, leave it all to me."

"Well--they're _your_ imaginary children, after all."

"Oh, you! That's just a detail!"

"I'm a detail-oriented person," Hank said casually. "How about Anna?"

"Oh, a glamor girl. Takes after _me,_ naturally. She'd sashay down the street with every boy on earth panting after her. And that's just when she's six. When she grows up--look out!"

"Indeed," Hank said. "And Charles?"

"A glamor boy," Maria said. "A heart-breaker. The same as Anna, but worse. But street smart, too. Like Frank is. In fact, Charles would look a little like Frank."

"OK," Hank said. "And Scott?"

"Deep," Maria said. "Maybe even smarter than Hank, Jr, but not as much of a show-off about it. He, and not Charles, would most resemble the Professor. A born leader, in a quiet way."

"And Jean?"

"God help us!" Maria said with a laugh. "Don't dare even ask!"

Hank laughed too. "OK--now to the important part. What would their powers be?"

"Easy," Maria said. "Hank Junior would have _your_ powers, but a little stronger physically--the influence of my genes. Maria would be able to cast hallucinations--like Mastermind. She'd constantly be creating heavenly scenes, to match her devoutness. Anna? Anna would have my powers, but be able to maintain her 'human' form. Charles would inherit only my morphing abilities, but be able to maintain them as long as he wished. But no super-strength, anything like that. Just morph into other people. That would help immensely in snooping out other people's secrets. And he'd probably enjoy doing that. Scott? He wouldn't be a mutant. A 'freak'. The 'normal' one."

"And Jean?" Hank said.

Maria laughed. " _She_ could do anything she damned well wanted to."

* * *

Frank Gianelli was looking at the older man across from him, trying hard to be careful in his questioning. Robert Chalmers was a federal judge, and no one to trifle with. But he was also a key source in everything that was going on. He hadn't been particularly hostile when Frank had called him, but was being cagey now. And that was probably a good thing.

"Judge--what can you tell me about Bolivar Trask?"

Chalmers licked his lips carefully. "Well, Mr Gianelli, my friendship with him is a matter of public record. I've known Bolivar for a long time."

"Yes, sir. But it's his activities _now_ that interest me. Do you know anything about them? In particular, do you know what the Sentinels are?"

Chalmers shuddered. "Mr Gianelli--that is a word that I hoped I would never hear again. Because if I never heard it, it would mean that Bolivar Trask had abandoned the path of madness."

Frank was silent for a long time. "It's that bad then, Judge?"

Chalmers frowned. "Mr Gianelli--the following is _strictly_   off the record. Is that clear?'

Frank nodded. "It is, sir."

"Good. Then I shall say this: the whole world is sitting on top of a tinder-box. It might explode at any time. And if--when--it does, we will be facing a situation graver than the Cuban Missile Crisis."

Frank felt his mouth go dry. "That's saying a great deal, your honor."

"It is true nonetheless." Chalmers took a sip of water, and Frank joined him. "Off the record, Mr Gianelli--Trask intends to unleash these things against mutants. And not just in the United States. _Everywhere._ Europe. Africa. China." A pause. "Russia. Does _that_ make you just the least bit nervous, Mr Gianelli?"

"My God," Frank said. "He's mad."

"I'm afraid so," Chalmers said. "I say that reluctantly. He was a good man once. A very good man. But--things--drove him over the edge. And now, he's a man obsessed. And he has others, behind him, who if anything are even _more_   radical than he. These Sentinels are going to be operational very soon, Mr Gianelli. And when they are, Trask intends to unleash them on the world."

"Can't the government do something?" Frank said, aghast. "Anything?"

" _They_   think so," Chalmers said. "Trask thinks differently. And _he_ has the whip hand."

Frank shook his head. "But Judge Chalmers--! Can even Trask control these things?"

Chalmers smiled grimly. "A very good question, Mr Gianelli. A very good question, indeed. God knows. _I_   do not. But if something can go wrong, it shall. Especially in this instance . You see why I am talking as I am? Certainly not to hear myself speak. The situation is grave."

Frank nodded. "Do you think publicity could check Trask?"

Chalmers shrugged. "Who knows? Perhaps. That is why I am speaking to you. But Mr Gianelli--I have another, deeper motive. As everyone knows now, you have a pipeline to Xavier and the X-Men. You must use it. You _must_   warn him, convince him of the seriousness of the situation. I feel that only the X-Men can save the world from catastrophe."

Frank felt almost physically sick. Every new piece of knowledge he obtained about these things made the danger worse. Now, though--

"I appreciate your candor, Judge. Is there anything else you can tell me?"

Chalmers stared intently at Frank. "Young man, either the world deals with these Sentinels, or the Sentinels will deal with the world. Terminally. Impress this upon Jameson, Xavier, everybody. And time is running out."

* * *

Jean lay in Scott's arms, hearing him dozing softly. Soon, he would awake and kiss her, and it would be time for her to return to her own bed. So there was very little time left tonight. Always a bittersweet moment for her. She let her hand run down his body--his chest, stomach, hips...his wonderful, sweet, exquisite manhood...she almost laughed. The poor boy had fallen asleep with the rubber still on! She used her TK to gently remove it, feeling it moving under her ministrations, getting as much liquid from his member as she could as she went, pushing it into the rubber. There was always a lot. Scott could come and come. And it _never_ got routine for Jean. Every time, they discovered something new about themselves. Jean shivered, knowing that her love was only beginning. That it would get greater as time passed, not less. And that it would be the same for him.

She contemplated the rubber. What if she just put it inside her vagina, and turned it inside out? Let nature take its course? She smiled. Of course, she'd never do it. Not for many years. But the thought of conceiving in _just_   that way when she was, oh, twenty-one or twenty-two just felt right to her. Of course, she supposed she'd tell Scott first. _Of course._ She sighed, shook her head. She _was_   a wicked thing. Having thoughts like this... She envied Maria, in a way. Hank could just come inside her all he wanted, and they never had to worry about a thing. She felt a sudden surge of ecstatic happiness. _She_    was content. More than content. And those she loved were happy, too. Maria. And Hank. Who could have thought _that_ would happen? God bless them both. She supposed that feeling--of wanting everyone around her to be happy, as happy as she was--was a very feminine way of regarding the world. Well, the world could use more of it, if so.

Word was leaking out that Hank and Maria were a couple. Gossip columnists were hinting it, in a few cases more than hinting. Letters were pouring in--mostly letters of congratulations, though some came from religious fundamentalists calling Maria an "abomination" and that any romance with her was the work of the devil. Other letters were frankly curious about the details. Jean laughed to herself. Maybe she'd try to talk Maria into another press conference, to discuss _that?_ After all, this whole thing had been _her_   idea.

Jean Grey was a very determined young lady, as she well knew. She was happy. Scott was happy. Maria and Hank were happy. Therefore, Bobby and Warren had to be happy too. That followed with the logic of a mathematical equation. And Jean Grey was going to _make_   them happy, by hook or by crook. Needless to say, the letters the boys got--from the teenyboppers, in Bobby's case; and from their older sisters, and aunts and mothers and everyone else, in Warren's case--were no help there. No, Jean had to be creative. Well, she'd think of something. _Everyone_   had to be happy. And they would be happy, if she had to kill them to get them that way.

Scott stirred, woke. He smiled at Jean, looked at the rubber hovering in mid-air.

"Oh. Done clean-up duty already?"

"Indeed, oh lord-and-master."

Scott snickered. "Oh, right! As if _you_ regarded me--anyone--like that."

Jean winked at him like a harpy. "Play your cards right..."

Scott kissed her, and Jean's concentration was soon broken to the point where the rubber fell right on top of Scott's head and unfortunately leaked out just a bit into his hair.

"Oops!" Jean said, her hand over her mouth in "contrition".

"An accident, of course?' he asked, taking the rubber off his head and examining the damage it had caused.

"Oh, Scott, of course!"

"Of course," he said. "Jean, one of these days we'll need to have a little chat about your attitude."

She smiled and got out of bed, taking the rubber with her telekinetically. "Aye aye, sir. But it's time to say good night now."

Scott laughed, and grabbed a Kleenex and rubbed his hair dry with it. "Good night, Jean." They kissed once more, and Jean left. She was asleep as soon as her head hit her pillow, and dreamed of having a body like Maria's that somehow was still hers. The dream was actually rather interesting.

* * *

Frank Gianelli looked around at his surroundings. Just another bar, in just another part of Lower West Side Manhattan. Hell's Kitchen. Not all that far from his neighborhood, further east. Some of the Irish kids from this area used to come around to Little Italy and make trouble, and _his_ crowd of course didn't take that lying down. A few knuckles got skinned, a few teeth loosened now and then. He grinned, and bit down on his choppers. Nothing wrong _there._

"Mr Gianelli?" He looked up. A lean, saturnine figure stood over him, wearing an old-fashioned Inverness jacket and a non-descript felt hat. Frank nodded.

"Quite so." The figure sat down, and Frank indicated another beer, which came promptly. The man fingered the drink, took a sip, and watched Frank intently. Frank waited for the man--whom he recognized--to make the first move.

"My name is Jason Wyngarde," the man finally said in an English accent, with the air of one revealing the secrets of the Universe. Frank nodded.

"You have another name, as well, I believe," he said. "One considerably more famous."

The man sipped his drink again and shrugged. "No secret _there,_ " he said. "That seems to be par for the course for we mutants. Even the X-Men, the 'good' ones. Though the name Jean Grey is now world-famous, 'Marvel Girl' hasn't exactly been forgotten."

"Nor has 'Mastermind'." Frank said, and Wyngarde smiled appreciatively.

"I should hope not! We do make such an effort at keeping our names current."

Frank shrugged. "Well, you've succeeded admirably in that, I should say, Mr Wyngarde. Or do you prefer 'Mastermind'?"

Wyngarde pursed his lips. "An interesting point, really, Mr Gianelli. I feel differently about it, at different times. I believe 'Wyngarde' is better suited for this occasion."

"Very well, Mr Wyngarde. How may I help you?"

The saturnine-faced man looked Frank straight in the eye. "You can arrange a meeting between my esteemed leader, whom you know as Magneto, and Charles Xavier."

Frank sat very still for several seconds. "Why me?" he finally asked. "Why doesn't Magneto just go to the Mansion and ring the doorbell?"

Wyngarde laughed. "Very pithy, Mr Gianelli, very pithy. But it doesn't work that way. _Magneto_ doesn't work that way. He needs a venue where he doesn't appear to be approaching Xavier as a supplicant. He needs to find neutral ground. That's where _you_ come in. Your pipeline to Xavier scarcely needs to be mentioned."

Frank shook his head. "Hardly, Mr Wyngarde. Maria." He frowned. "I take it for granted that you're not using me to bait a trap for Xavier and the X-Men."

Wyngarde's brows rose. "Mr Gianelli! Magneto would scarcely need _you_ to bait a trap for the X-Men! He's shown on more than one occasion that he's quite ready and willing to do so himself."

Frank grunted. That made sense. "OK, Wyngarde," he said. "I'll see what I can do. Where will we meet again? Here?"

Wyngarde nodded. "Precisely. One week from today, at this hour. Then we shall all see what we see."

"Good." Frank looked at Mastermind straight in the face. "Does this have something to do with the Sentinels?"

For a moment Frank thought the other man looked nonplussed, then his expression went blank. "I'm not really at liberty to say, Mr Gianelli."

Frank nodded. But he would swear the other man didn't know what "Sentinels" were. _Either my guess is off, then, or Wyngarde is just a messenger boy. Interesting, either way._

* * *

Maria listened to the discussion between the Professor and Frank with only one ear. The other was still hearing Hank's voice as he made love to her. That sweet sound was ever-present in Maria's head these days. She smiled to herself. She wondered what the others would say, accustomed as they were to his dictionary vocabulary, if they knew how he really talked, what he was really like, when his defenses were down. Maria loved him so much then. He was so totally himself, and so totally _hers._ And no one else would ever know...

Oh, balls. The Professor had asked her a question. "Sir?" she asked. "I'm sorry, but I was a million miles away."

Frank and the Professor smiled. "I can imagine your deep considerations, Maria," Professor Xavier said. Jean had told her of how the Professor had called her and Scott in for a talk when he realized that _they_ were in love. He hadn't done so with her and Hank, and she wasn't sure why. Maybe he was so pleased that she _had_ found love that he didn't want to risk spoiling it in any way. That, at least, was her explanation, and she'd stick with it until she was disabused. As for Frank, well, he hadn't said anything to her about it, but he presumably read his own paper, which was having the time of its life with the story. Maria had more-or-less explicitly confirmed it to the _Bugle_ 's gossip writer, feeling she owed that to Mr Jameson, and it had hit front pages all over the world. People were intrigued, and very curious about "details". Maria sighed. Let them guess. She rather liked having an air of mystery.

"Anyway, sir," she said, back straight and all attention, "I am totally at your disposal now. Would you please repeat the question?"

"I asked, Maria, if you trusted Mastermind."

Maria laughed out loud at the sheer absurdity of the query. "Hell, no! Excuse me, sir. _Heck_ no. I wouldn't trust him as far as I could throw him."

The Professor's brows rose. "Actually, Maria, you could throw him quite a distance."

She considered this. "I guess so, sir. Well, amend it to--hell, no."

The Professor and Frank laughed. "Kid," Frank said, "this Mastermind wants me to set up a pow-wow between the Professor here and Magneto."

Maria's jaw dropped. "You're kidding!" She turned to the Professor. "And you're going to _accept,_ sir?"

Charles looked thoughtful. "I had given the possibility some consideration, Maria."

"It's a trick," she said simply. "Don't trust him, sir."

Charles smiled. "I do not believe that I am overly-credulous, Maria. Especially regarding Eric Magnus Lehnsherr. If the proper terms can be arranged, meeting him will pose no danger to anyone, I think. And I find the proposal itself intriguing. Is our unofficial 'truce' going to be rescinded? Extended? Or is he interested in something else altogether? Has he heard about--" He broke off, and Maria realized he was going to say something that he wouldn't have wanted her to hear. She wondered, especially as Frank's face indicated that _he_ knew what the Professor was going to say.

The Professor looked at Maria. "That is neither here not there. But one of the conditions which I intend to have Frank impress upon Mastermind is that when I meet Magneto, _you_ shall accompany me, Maria. I am no fool. I shall have the strongest of my students there as support, or else there shall be no meeting."

Frank nodded. "I'll tell Wyngarde that."

* * *

Magneto smiled ruefully. "Poor Charles! I do not believe he entirely trusts me, Wyngarde."

Jason Wyngarde shrugged. "Perhaps not. But I told Gianelli that your terms would be that _I_ be present for the meeting, too. I know you have your helmet to ward off his mental powers, but I can help there, too, if necessary. I am no match for Xavier--but then, the Gianelli girl is no match for _you._ I figured that way there'd be a more-or-less equal balance of forces."

Magneto considered this. To Wyngarde's relief, he finally smiled. "Excellent, Jason, excellent. _Very_   well done. I can accept that. Now let's get the details down in black-and-white."


	46. Summit Meeting

The Thinker luxuriated in his whirlpool bath, his long hair immersed in the water, his always fragile back feeling the pressure as the swirling liquid pounded it. His eyes were shut, and he felt at peace with the world. Essex had seemingly deserted him, but that was more of a relief to the Thinker than otherwise. Essex had proved to be a man on a mission. He had distant goals and far horizons, and while the Thinker could appreciate this, they were not _his_   goals or horizons. No, that alliance was best forgotten. Think of the future instead--

The bath shut down, the water stopped. The Thinker blinked his eyes, looked around--

\--And saw the entire X-Men arrayed against him on the other side of the room. The two girls--Shift and Marvel Girl--were on his far right and left. The Beast, Iceman, Angel, and Cyclops bridged them. They were standing there, without masks, arms folded and posture very forbidding indeed. Nor did they have encouraging expressions on their faces.

"Ah, my children!" he called out, trying to keep his voice as light as possible. He tried to reach for his towel, but found, to his dismay, that Shift was holding it in her hands. He winced. He did not like physical pain--indeed, it would not be going too far to say that he had something of a phobia about it. And he was 99.87% certain he was going to endure some in the very near future.

Shift walked right over to the bath and looked down on him. "You need to lose some weight," she said in that dreadful voice of hers. He merely shrugged.

"I know, my child. But really, I get so little exercise--" He sighed theatrically. "What can one do?"

She stared down at him. "Well, well," she said. "X-Men--I do believe that, as menaces go, our friend here is, how shall I put it, overmatched, by others." Her fellow miserable freaks smiled, as though she had said something clever.

"How on earth did you find me?" he asked, hoping desperately that by extending the period of talk, he could postpone--or, conceivably, evade entirely--the period of pain. Alas, this expectation seemed to be disappointed immediately.

"Luck and clean living," Shift said, putting her ridiculous hands around his member. "What do we do with him, anyway? Any suggestions?"

"Get a pencil sharpener," the Angel said, in what he no doubt regarded as an attempt at wit. "That seems about right for what we need to do."

Marvel Girl shook her head. "No, that's much too kind to him. I suggest simple gelding. Maria--you'd have no objection, I take it?"

"I think I could force myself," Shift replied in her loathsome, so-called voice, and put the slightest pressure on his member. The Thinker shut his eyes, waiting for the inevitable agony to come--he would _not_ give these damned children the satisfaction of seeing him cry out in pain. He wouldn't cry out, he wouldn't cry out, he wouldn't cry out--

He opened his eyes in astonishment as the pressure lifted, and Shift laughed caustically. "Come on, pal. Get up. You're going on a little trip."

He stared at her, amazed. "You mean--after all I did to you--to _both_ of you--" he looked at Marvel Girl, who was staring at him with an expression he knew he would never forget-- "you're not going to take vengeance on my person when I'm totally at your mercy?"

Marvel Girl smiled--a bit ferociously, the Thinker felt. "No, we are not. And do you know why we're not?"

The Thinker shook his head, genuinely mystified.

"Because we're not you," she said sweetly. "And despite all temptations, we're not going to let you turn us into you. Is that reason enough?" The Thinker merely shrugged at these words, thinking that the X-Men had turned out to be either softer that he had imagined--or tougher, in a way he did not understand. He sighed to himself. He needed to understand much more about them before encountering them again. He was 78.66% sure he would escape from prison in the relatively near future--say, within a year. And when he did, he would have to give these children some serious thought. Clearly, he had miscalculated with them--in every way possible. Well, he would have time to think in prison. That was what he was most famous for, after all--thinking. The proper method of dealing with them next time would appear to him, sooner or later. He felt a slight flush of anger--he was most certainly _not_   "overmatched", despite what the loathsome freak Shift had said. But no--he had to forget that, forego any resentment over personal slights. No, he must approach this with logic and detachment. His time would come again.

"There are exactly seven outstanding warrants out for your arrest, by both New York State and federal authorities," Cyclops said. "In exactly--" he looked at his watch-- "four minutes, every FBI agent in the greater New York area will be breaking down your door. You have that long to get dressed. We, of course, shall remain to make sure you don't attempt flight. They graciously gave us this time to apprehend you."

"As you wish, my children," he said. "If you would please hand me my clothes--?" Soon he was dressed, and being led out in handcuffs. His last sight of the X-Men was seeing those accursed children shaking hands with each other, and all of them hugging that damned freak Shift.

* * *

Maria waited with the Professor in a small room. The exact location didn't matter, nor how they got there. It had been mutually agreed to by both sides. He sat to her left, and the small table had two matching chairs opposite. They didn't have long to wait.

Magneto entered the room, Mastermind following. Maria almost gasped. Magneto wasn't wearing his helmet! He was a handsome man, in his late thirties, possibly. It wasn't easy to tell, because his hair was snow white. He sat across from the Professor, and Mastermind across from her. He smiled briefly, and she looked him in the eyes without reciprocating.

"Eric," the Professor said. "I thank you for your gesture of trust."

Magneto smiled slightly. "It shows I have nothing to hide from you on this occasion, Charles," he said. "This is a parley, nothing more."

The Professor nodded. "Understood. Very well, Eric. What is your purpose in calling this meeting?"

"Several things," Magneto said. "First off--" He looked at Maria. "I am right, my dear, am I not, in thinking that it was _your_ influence that made the X-Men shed their masks and so-called secret identities?"

Maria nodded. "Yeah, basically."

"Excellent," Magneto said. "Was my little speech in any way responsible for your actions? That day we met?"

"A little."

"Splendid." He turned back to the Professor. "That was well done, Charles. I congratulate you. Really. You quite took some of the wind out of my sails, so to speak. So now _neither_ of us is hiding from the world."

"No," the Professor said quietly. "Neither of us are, Eric."

Magneto seemed lost in thought. "Charles I believe that someday the two of us will work together--as we once did. Possibly sooner that you can imagine. I believe we each know something the other lacks. I shall speak first. There have been some unusual energy readings in Manhattan lately, concentrated on the West Side. I have never seen anything like it. I assume it is a mutant, but if so, I tell you honestly it is unlike any mutant I have ever known. But I do not see what else it _could_ be. Do you know to what I am referring?"

The Professor looked intrigued. "Not really, Eric. I have had--connections--to something mentally. Cerebro has given me contradictory--and sometimes, outright fantastic--readings. They do not seem to be mutant-related, but I can't say for sure that they are not, either. I frankly haven't been sure what to make of it all. If it _is_   a mutant, it is by far the most powerful on earth. Including either of us."

Magneto didn't seem to take this personally. "Indeed. In that case, Charles, I would suggest we continue to compare notes about this phenomenon. If you are willing."

"I am willing," the Professor said softly, and Maria felt gooseflesh rise on her skin. The Professor, and Magneto--working together! She could hardly believe it. Mastermind seemed bemused by what was happening, and risked another small smile. She just shrugged

"Now, Charles," Magneto said, "it is your turn. What do you know about 'Sentinels'?"

The Professor nodded his head, as if he was expecting the question. Maria was puzzled. The word meant nothing to her, though the Professor looked briefly at her before he responded.

"Something, Eric. Not as much as I could wish. I have received warnings from individuals inside the government friendly to me, as well as by a reporter--" Maria sat up straight. Frank! She listened very closely-- "that there is an effort to build robots designed for the purpose of hunting down mutants, in order to 'protect' the human population from the threat we supposedly represent. My government sources assure me that the President is in firm control of all this, that nothing will be done without his explicit say-so, and that it is simply a precaution, like the nuclear deterrent. The reporter says something quite different. He claims the creator of these 'Sentinels' is already out of the effective control of the government, and intends to launch a worldwide war of genocide against mutants as soon as he is able." The Professor paused, as Maria's face was wide-eyed with shock. For once, Mastermind wasn't smiling. He seemed as appalled as she.

"And there is more," Professor Xavier finally said. "These sources tell my reporter friend--and of course you realize that he is Maria's brother; of course you do, since you picked him to set this meeting up-- _he_ has been told that the Sentinels have already gone beyond their creator's intentions. That _he_ is no longer in control of them. If that is true, God alone knows what will happen when they are unleashed upon the world. They may well enslave humans as much as mutants, under the guise of 'protecting' them."

Magneto was silent for some time. "God have mercy on us," he finally said, and Maria could only agree. "Charles--I could not have imagined such a disaster in my wildest dreams. Even given what I know about humans." He shook his head. "We must learn more. By any means. Our survival is at stake."

The Professor nodded. "I agree, Eric. But how?"

Magneto looked at him scornfully. "Use your power, Charles! By God, you can look into the thoughts of anyone on earth. Do so! Find out what the hell is going on!"

"My powers are limited, Eric," the Professor said. "Your helmet can block me--to some extent. The government can do likewise. They have whole installations shielded against my powers. I have tried. When it's our survival at stake, I have not let scruples get in my way, believe me. So far, to no avail. Whoever is building these has taken my powers into account."

Magneto nodded. "Very well, then. Another thing we must compare notes on." He looked hard at Charles. "You would tell me everything you know about these things?"

"I would, Eric. In _this,_ at least, we are not enemies, if not yet allies."

"I will accept that, for the moment." He looked at the Professor, then at Maria. "Charles. We have had a truce, unofficially, for some time. I propose to formalize this. I shall keep the Brotherhood out of mischief, as you would put it. Concentrate our resources solely on this genocidal threat to our existence. And try to find out about the anomaly, if it _is_ mutant-related. Your group and mine shall no longer confront each other. If we happen to need each other's resources, we shall use your Mansion, and you can use our current headquarters. We shall establish a communications link--our private hotline. And whatever the other learns about the Sentinels, the other shall learn as well."

The Professor nodded. "That is acceptable, Eric. For now, it is no more than the US-Soviet alliance during the War was. A marriage of convenience. Perhaps it shall grow into something more. Perhaps not. But for now, it sounds like an acceptable plan."

"Excellent." Magneto shook hands with the Professor, and with Maria, somewhat to her surprise. Mastermind did the same with them both. There was a good deal more talk, about details, logistics, other things. Maria listened intently, trying to remember as much as she could. Finally the meeting broke up.

"We have made a start," Magneto said. "My long-term goals have not changed, Charles. But perhaps my tactics have. We shall see."

"I could ask for no more," the Professor said. Magneto turned to Maria.

"I believe I have underestimated you, my dear," he said. "Oh, not your power. Not even you have any real idea what _that_   is yet. But you, as a person. You're more ruthless--more like _me-_ -than I had thought."

Maria looked him right in the eyes. "I hope you always remember that, Magneto."

"I shall." And he and Wyngarde were gone, and Maria was alone with the Professor. She looked at him.

"My God, sir--how long have you known about these Sentinels?"

"Not too long, really," he said wearily. "Jameson assigned your brother to this story. _He_ knows more of them than I do, actually. And is still learning more."

"That reassures me, sir," she said. "Frank has a lot on the ball. He always has."

The Professor smiled. "I agree, Maria. Very much so." He looked hard at her. "What Magneto said at the end--do you really believe him? _Are_ you like him?"

She smiled carefully. "Aren't all of us, in some way, sir?"

He considered this. "I hope not, Maria. Not in the ways that count."

"Sir, when it comes to protecting those I love--not an abstraction; not 'mutants'; but Hank, Jean, Scott, Warren, Bobby, Frank, you--you'd be amazed at what I'm capable of."

The Professor said nothing for awhile. Then: "Very well, Maria. I'm glad you're on _our_   side."

"So am I, sir. So am I."

* * *

The Stranger was slowly becoming aware that someone, somehow, on this mudball was becoming aware of him. Of his presence. Surely, not of his mission. But could he be certain even of that? Could telepathy have developed among people this primitive? And could someone have gotten beneath his defenses? It was unlikely in the extreme--but not impossible. He would have to consider this.

Who could be responsible? Was someone searching for him, seeking him out? Why? Who? he had not let his guard down. Except, perhaps, for his attempt to explore the city in three dimensions. Was _that_   it? And yet, he was not unique in this. He had been startled--or as startled as he could be--by the sight of a flying human, one who consisted of flame, appearing in his field of vision one day. A cursory examination of this creature showed that it was _not_ a mutant, as he had first assumed. But as to what it was, he had made no final decisions yet. The Stranger never theorized before he had the facts. Especially about mutants.

Still--humans capable of flying, of bursting into flame, made him wary. This planet might not be as primitive as he first assumed. He would have to re-examine his assumptions. He was already realizing that this world was one where nothing could be assumed or taken for granted. This being so, he was keeping a very open mind as to the nature of its mutants, and the reasons for the mutant energy he sensed everywhere. Jumping to conclusions was the cardinal sin in his calling. It was frustrating. He wanted to narrow his frames of reference, not open them further. But the nature of this world made that difficult. Everything he learned seemed to make all his conclusions inoperable. He had the time. Watch and learn. The mutants would still be there, when he was ready for them.

* * *

Wilson Fisk welcomed his guest. "Dr Darkholme" he said graciously. "I appreciate your taking time out of your schedule to see me."

She looked carefully at him. "I take it this room is safe?"

Fisk looked around his office. "You mean from bugging devices?"

"I mean from telepaths!" she said emphatically. Fisk shrugged.

"I have taken precautions against that," he said. "There are ways. One can never be certain how effective they are. If you're asking me for absolute reassurances that Charles Xavier, say, _cannot_   penetrate this room--well, I fear I cannot give them to you."

"Xavier wouldn't bother me too much," Darkholme said. "Though he _is_ loyal to his FBI friends. But there are others..." She drifted off, voice dark. "Well, never mind. One must take some risks in this world. Especially considering what we face." She looked slowly at Fisk. "I take it you wish to discuss the Sentinels?"

Fisk looked at her appreciatively. "Very good, Doctor. By all means. Let's talk about the Sentinels. What can you tell me about them?"

Darkholme shuddered. "Too much. They occupy my waking moments, and prey on my nightmares. I have done everything in my power to pull the plug on this catastrophe. All to no avail. They _are_ being finished. They _will_ be unleashed on the mutants of the world. My superiors--even the President--laugh at my fears. About Trask's motives. Even about his ability to keep these things under control." She shrugged. "I am very discouraged, Mr Fisk. Is that what you wish to hear from me?"

"Actually, yes," Fisk said, feeling the ground open up beneath his feet a little more. "If _you_   are pessimistic, Dr Darkholme, then _I_   am pessimistic. Your judgment has been recommended to me by someone whom I trust implicitly."

"May I ask who that is?" Darkholme said.

"You may ask," Fisk said. "But I may not choose to answer, and in this instance, I do not. It is someone you know well. That is all that matters." He took a deep breath. "Doctor--someone, anyone, must act soon. Before the planet becomes a radioactive cinder. You know of course that _that_   is a distinct possibility?"

She nodded. "Indeed, Mr Fisk. If Trask is mad enough to send them to Russia--to dispose of _their_   mutants--"

"Yes," Fisk said. "An American invasion of Russia--for so _they_ will regard it. And nothing Johnson says will convince them otherwise. If that happens, all bets are off." He actually shuddered. "That would be bad for business, Dr Darkholme."

She laughed--a bit hysterically, Fisk thought. "Why, yes, I should think it _would_   be!"

"Quite." He nodded slowly, and the gesture was enough to calm Darkholme down. She watched him intently.

"Do you have a plan of action, Mr Fisk? Because I'll be honest--I'm damned if _I_ do."

"I have some plans of action already being pursued," Fisk said. "I am feeding information to a reporter--the brother of the X-Man Shift, in point of fact. _His_   sources are quite reliable, indeed. The _Daily Bugle_ has already printed stories broadly hinting at the truth, but lacking specificity. Jameson is waiting until he has all his ducks in a row--being cautious, as a good journalist should be. But I do not think we have time for those ducks to get into their rows. Do you, Doctor?"

She shook her head. "No, Mr Fisk, I do not believe so, either. Not unless they plan on moving _very_   soon."

"I agree." Fisk shut his eyes. He always went over the same questions again, and never seemed to get any further. He opened his eyes, saw Darkholme waiting for him to speak. And he didn't have a damned thing to tell her, really. Time to force some action. "Dr Darkholme--if you have anyone whom you've been waiting to impersonate, some last-ditch emergency morphing, I would suggest that _this_ is the time to do it."

She was silent. For a very long time. "How did you know about me?" she finally said, in a very unfriendly voice indeed.

He waved a hand. "Please, Doctor. Do not insult my intelligence. I am an information broker. I can discover anything about anyone, if I _really_   need to know. I need to know. Desperately. Well--do you?"

She licked her lips. "Maybe."

"Ah," Fisk said with quiet satisfaction. "I hoped such might be the case. Who, Doctor?"

"A man named Graydon Creed." She said the name with obvious reluctance, and Fisk knew why.

"My, my. Your own son."

She was on her feet, hands going for his throat. " _How did you know that?_ " She morphed into something large and menacing, hurled herself at him--

\--And was pushed back as easily as if she had been a child. Her morph-shape--Fisk was interested to see that it was Sabertooth-- _My God, was that deliberate, or pure instinct? Interesting either way_ \--fell back to the floor, and the impact turned her back to normal. Fisk sighed as he looked down on her.

"That was stupid, Raven. Very stupid. Whatever your shape, your _mass_ does not change. Unlike Shift. _She_   could have overcome me easily enough. _You_ cannot. Please do not insult me again by trying. I have a low tolerance for stupidity."

Raven got back into her chair, a sullen expression on her face. "How _did_   you know about Graydon? I've covered my tracks very thoroughly indeed."

"And yet, not thoroughly enough. Obviously."

"Obviously," she said. "Oh, to hell with it. I'll quit underestimating you, Fisk."

"Excellent. Then we can continue. How does morphing into your son help matters?"

"Because he's the head of the most radical of the anti-mutant groups, the Friends of Humanity. He and Trask are like _that._ " She intertwined two fingers together. "If Graydon should be--inconvenienced--I could take his place. And learn what I could learn."-

Fisk smiled tightly. "Just so. 'Inconvenienced'. Such a thing could be arranged, Raven. I take it your maternal instincts would not be unduly overwhelmed should Graydon be inconvenienced?"

Raven smiled darkly. "I'd survive."

"Excellent. I think we should make specific plans, get a schedule down in black-and-white."

"Whatever you want, Fisk."

"Good." He paused. "By the way--do you think your _other_   son would be helpful to our plans?"

She sighed, seemingly beyond surprise. "I don't think Kurt would be of any use to us, Fisk. He is very young. Green as a pea. Happy in his damned circus. Let _him_   be."

"As you wish." And they got down to business.

* * *

The Stranger was watching some sort of human ritual in a green park in the middle of this city. A crowd of humans was gathered in a semi-circular shape, surrounding a platform of sorts. On this platform, other humans were declaiming in some sort of ritual language. The events taking place on the stage puzzled him. There seemed to be a confrontation between a young human and his--father?--if he could understand from what they were saying. A ghost was mentioned. The Stranger, sitting at the edge of the crowd, listened intently. The young human spoke a great deal more--indeed, much of this ritual seemed to consist of him talking, apparently, to himself. There were sword fights, and at one point what appeared to be a burial, and the young human talking to a skull it held in its hand. Were the sword fights indicative of some sort of warfare? The Stranger had been mistaken about this before, so he was not rushing to any conclusions now. The ritual soon ended, with the humans getting to their feet and making a sound by clapping their hands together. Was this a declaration of war, the Stranger wondered? No; no, the feel of the crowd was peaceful, if exhilarated. As the crowd dispersed, the Stranger walked up to the platform. Something about this ritual, he had to confess, had exhilarated _him._ It seemed to suggest levels of meaning, in a way he could not quite understand. The language of the humans in this land was not difficult to master. It was simple, by interstellar standards. And yet-- The Stranger sighed to himself. _This_   language, he had to admit, had been extraordinary. He understood poetry, having listened to scores of worlds' examples. There was no doubt, thinking back on it, that this had been poetry, too. If Earth could produce poetry like this--

Well, there was no gainsaying it. These humans kept surprising him. He was still uncertain as to the symbolic meaning of the poetry. The ghost, the burial, the skull--could this have been a funeral? He felt that just perhaps, he was on the right track here. Could all funerals on this planet have poetry as exquisite as this written for them? That would make the humans a poetry-species. He had encountered a few in his travels. They were mostly impractical peoples, who sacrificed material wealth for a strong delicacy of feeling in their modest lives. But he had no such feeling with these humans. And--if he was to be honest--he did not feel any especial poetic sensibilities in the vast majority of humans he observed. Whence, then, that remarkable poetry? What was the occasion for it? More questions; still no answers.


	47. Celestial Fire

Chapter Forty-seven

* * *

The weeks since his meeting with Magneto had been frustrating ones for Charles Xavier. All attempts to learn more of the Sentinels had been stymied. The students had been amazed to hear of his agreement with Eric. They didn't argue, of course, but they were curious, and he explained the situation to them. It was Bobby, interestingly, who had been the most dubious.

"Sir--this won't work. Magneto has an angle. He's more interested in getting to you than he is in saving anyone from these Sentinels."

Charles had sighed wearily. "I know, Robert. He may _think_   he is pulling one over on me. But if we keep our eyes open, then this temporary alliance may work. At least for the duration of this emergency."

Scott was frowning. "Sir? Why don't we just take preemptive action against Trask and the Sentinels? It can't be impossible to find out where his lair is. We have the advantage now--especially if Magneto throws his weight to our side. If the situation is as serious as you say--?"

Charles shrugged, feeling very deflated. "Scott, if we did that it would in effect be declaring war on the government of the United States. If we did _that,_ everything I have worked for my whole life would be undermined. We would become outlaws and outcasts, even if we succeeded in overthrowing the Sentinels. Magneto's path would be our only remaining option. No, I am not prepared to do that. Not unless there was literally _no_ alternative left."

Scott nodded. "Yes, sir. I agree."

And there the matter stood for the moment. Charles worked around the clock to find out more, but information was hard to come by. Fred Duncan at the FBI had nothing more. Frank Gianelli was finding it hard to learn more, too, mostly because since the press conference, _he_   had become famous as Maria's brother, ending his usefulness as an undercover reporter. He now was a Celebrity Reporter, like Walter Winchell or John Gunther, and had to act on that basis. It made things more difficult in many ways, as he told both Charles and his employer, Jameson.

As for Magneto's "anomaly"--that, just maybe, was more promising. Charles had used Cerebro to track this energy, and while it had been uncertain due to it--whatever "it" was-- _not_ being a mutant, still Charles had had some interesting results. He could triangulate from those results, and indeed, the anomaly, while moving throughout the New York area, was concentrated in Manhattan--especially the West Side. If he used his mental powers, he was occasionally sensing... _something._ But it, he, whatever, would sense him and retreat, leaving Charles frustrated. It seemed to be able to maneuver around his mental probing with ease. That indicated a level of power he didn't like to contemplate.

Ah, well. For now, he couldn't do anything about that, either. He could focus on the demonstrations that still occasionally enlivened matters out on Graymalkins Lane, on the astonishing quality of the relationship between Scott and Jean, on the honest and open and beautiful love blossoming between Maria and Hank. That had pleased him more than he could have imagined. Knowing of Hank's feelings from the very start, he still was happy to see them grab what happiness they could. And the fact that there was no possibility of pregnancy, he had to admit, made _this_   relationship a little less stressful than the one between Scott and Jean. While he trusted their discretion, and common sense, still they were young people in love. They could get carried away. Accidents could happen.

He sighed. People did grow up. The world kept moving around its axis. Charles Xavier could not stop time, much as he might wish he could. All he could do was safeguard their future--see to it that they _had_ time. And even that seemed to grow more problematic by the day.

* * *

"I have him." Magneto's words were quiet, and Wanda sensed the satisfaction in his voice. She had been informed about this anomalous figure he had been tracking. It had seemed intriguing, and certainly it had almost obsessed Magneto. Now, though, she could sense his excitement. The prey had been brought to ground.

"Where is he?" Wyngarde said. Wanda had been surprised by the change in _him,_ too. Wyngarde almost seemed to be the gentleman in fact that he had always pretended to be. He was quieter, genuinely helpful to Magneto, and respectful to her. Even respectful to the loathsome Toad, who seemed bewildered by the changes around him.

"West 67th Street," Magneto said. "But that doesn't matter. I can now get him to track us _here._ " He waved a hand around their headquarters in a rural area of southern Staten Island. They had a large house here, with a few acres. God knew how Magneto had acquired it. She much preferred it to some of the other hideouts they had used.

"Oh?" Pietro said quietly. "And how do you propose to do _that,_ Magneto?"

"Very simply," Magneto said almost jovially. "I shall use the electromagnetic spectrum to get his attention. I now know enough to realize that _he-_ -whoever he is--is sensitive to changes in it. I still don't know how he utilizes it; but he _is_   sensitive to it. If I produce a beacon, I hope--and believe--our quarry shall come calling. That at least is the chance I am going to take."

"Do you still feel that he is a mutant, Magneto?" Wanda asked.

"Probably," Magneto said. "What else, after all, can he be? A very powerful mutant. One that will reclaim the balance-of-power in the mutant world for _us._ "

"Oh?" Wyngarde asked with a slight smile. "What of our agreement with the X-Men?"

Magneto frowned. "I have not forgotten it, Mastermind. But I am a grown-up, too. Do you think Charles has abandoned searching for new X-Men? The balance still exists. Our rivalry still exists. Whether that turns into friendship--or renewed enmity--is for the future to tell. Meanwhile--" He shrugged.

Wyngarde smiled appreciatively. "Excellent, Magneto. Let us see this marvel as soon as possible."

_____________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

 

The Stranger was sitting in his room, thinking. He was trying to add up everything he had learned about this planet and its inhabitants. Trying to see what made them think as they did, act as they did. And of course, trying to discover where the mutants were. Was it possible he had been going about this all wrong? Instead of seeking out mutants--should he be letting them find him? Those tentative probes--should he have tried to respond to them? After all, what harm could they do to _him?_

It was at this exact moment that the Stranger felt a strong disturbance of the electromagnetic field. It came, and disappeared, then came again; over and over. There was a definite pattern to it, and a definite direction. And he suddenly realized that this was what he had just been thinking about, a beacon aimed at _him._ Well, this time he would not disappoint. He would follow it wherever it led.

He stood and walked through the wall of his room. He no longer cared if anyone saw him, if anyone found his three-dimensional travel anomalous. He sensed that the climax to his sojourn on Earth was rapidly approaching. Excellent. The sooner, the better. This world, for all its fascinations, was wearying him.

He traveled south, along the edge of the river, then approached the island's southern tip. The beacon had originated across the waters. He strode in the air, over the harbor and towards a large island to the southwest. He approached this island, and moved across it confidently, over houses and fields and woods until he arrived in the southern--and less populated--portion of the island.

 _There._ A house, in the distance. It was coming from there. Very well. He would see what he would see. As he drew nearer, he knew he had found his quarry. Mutant energy almost exploded from this place. Splendid.

He lowered himself to the ground in front of the house. He did not waste his time, simply walked through the front wall of the house and found himself in a large room. There, awaiting him, were five figures. Colorfully garbed. _Mutants._ It shrieked from their bodies. His quest was at an end. The figure in their front, obviously their leader, put up a hand.

"Greetings," he said. "We are the Brotherhood of Mutants. I am Magneto. Welcome."

* * *

The Professor mentally summoned the entire team to his study. Very emphatically. Maria was the first to arrive, via her gas form through the air vents, but the whole team was assembled within a minute. Maria was impressed by the Professor's mood and tone. She had never seen him this serious.

"My X-Men--a force is present in our midst which is greater and more powerful than any I have ever encountered. I have sensed it for some time in the greater New York area, as has Magneto. We have consulted each other about it, but arrived at no conclusions. Today, Magneto has acted. He has summoned this force to his lair in Staten Island. Perhaps he feels that he will steal a march on us. I cannot tell. But for once, my old rival has miscalculated. This force is too great for him. It has ceased to conceal itself this day, and I have been able to take its measure. Magneto is a child compared to it." He was silent for a moment, and Scott took advantage of the pause to speak.

"Well, sir, what of it? If Magneto _has_ made a mistake, why is that _our_ concern?"

The Professor smiled. "Indeed, Scott. Why is that our concern? Because this force, being, whatever it is, is not of this world, for one." The X-Men looked at each other, wondering how to take this. Rumors there were, of the Fantastic Four encountering aliens. But that was one thing. Having to deal with a real, honest-to-goodness alien yourself...that was another. "And also, because I sensed, in my tracking of it, that this being is intimately concerned with us--that is, with mutants. _All_ mutants. _That_   makes it our business. And Magneto, for the moment, is vital to our plans concerning the Sentinels. Our interests coincide for now. My X-Men--we must get to Staten Island at once, and help the Brotherhood, if possible."

Jean laughed lightly. "My God. _Those_   are words I never thought I'd hear."

"You know what they say about politics and bedfellows," Warren said. "I guess it's true."

"Do you want me to get the _Blackbird_   prepared, sir?" Scott asked, practical as usual.

"I do, Scott. We leave within five minutes. And be ready for anything when we get there."

* * *

"I do not understand," the Stranger said. "Brotherhood? I am no member of any Brotherhood. I am merely a Stranger here." He knew he must not seem too anxious, either to question them or to examine them. Let them make the first moves. Perhaps, too, in this way he could understand a little more about this world and its inhabitants. He could make his move whenever he wished.

The one called Magneto, their leader, made a gesture that seemed to indicate frustration. "Come, come, 'Stranger'. We are not children here. We are all fellow mutants. Why bother denying it, now that we have summoned you here? After all, you _did_   respond to our kind invitation. Why was that, if not to seek out your own kind?"

"None of you are my kind," the Stranger said. "I am unique."

"Ah," Magneto said, "now you are testing my patience. I hope you do not feel that your obvious strength makes you a rival to _me._ I _am_   power. You must understand this, if you understand anything."

The Stranger could almost feel the sheer force of the mammalian dominance energies the one known as Magneto was exuding. He was familiar with this game, on many, many planets. It had often been played on him--always by those who knew no better. And here it was being done yet again. He had no patience for it. Time to end it, quickly. And decisively.

The Stranger barely nodded, and as suddenly as that Magneto was pinned to the wall of the room, as helpless as a child. He couldn't move, couldn't utilize his power. The others looked stunned, and one of them--a young man in a green costume--suddenly started moving at a speed so great that the Stranger could only see him as a blur. But he merely seemed to be running around the house again and again in circles, almost as if he were in a state of panic. Magneto, meanwhile, though unable to move, could still speak, and he did so emphatically.

"Wyngarde--show this Stranger that we can't be trifled with so easily!" A tall mutant made a gesture--

\--And the Stranger suddenly found himself at the bottom of an ocean, but somehow able to breathe, surrounded by undersea flora and fauna of this planet. He looked around him, and realized that this was not real, that the one called "Wyngarde" had created some sort of illusion. _They must learn that they cannot toy with me. They must learn this_ _now_ _._ With a simple thought, the ocean scene disappeared, and he was back in the house. He made the slightest gesture. The one called Wyngarde was transformed into a block of solid organic mass so great that he crashed through the floor into the basement of the house. Magneto, meanwhile, had taken advantage of the Stranger's preoccupation with Wyngarde to loosen himself from his predicament, and looked at the hole in the floor, and then over at the Stranger. He seemed to have no words to speak. But another--a female, dressed in red--did.

"Magneto!" she cried out. "I haven't spoken, because I didn't wish to speak before I was sure. I am now. This 'Stranger' is _not_ a mutant. I do not know what he is, but he is not one of us. Be wary!"

"He _must_   be!" Magneto cried out. "I can't have been fooled like this yet again!" These words meant nothing to the Stranger, and he could see that they meant nothing to the other members of The Brotherhood, either, including the one who had sped around and around the house, but who rejoined them now. The Stranger was getting weary of this game.

"No, you arrogant fool, I am _not_   a mutant," he said to Magneto. He began to grow in front of their eyes, to his real height. Magneto gasped.

"You--you're _growing._ But you can't be Giant-Man!" These words meant nothing to the Stranger either, who simply kept growing and reached out to Magneto. And at that moment--

\--There was an interruption, as a young man with wings entered the house.

* * *

Jean felt impatient all the way over to Staten Island. Something about this mission bothered her, and she had no idea what it was. The others seemed fine. Scott, focused as usual on tactics and strategy, talking to the Professor to get all the information he could. Warren, piloting the ship but cool, calm, joking with Bobby, astonishingly handsome without his mask. Bobby himself, loose, relaxed, with all the invincibility of youth. Hank, doing some isometric exercises, breathing deeply but regularly, ready for action. Maria, looking forward to the mission almost eagerly, peering ahead as if to see whatever came their way first. The Professor himself, calm when speaking with Scott, but withal excited, almost overwhelmed by _something._ Clearly in an anticipatory frame of mind. Jean wished she could share it. There was a little area of dread deep within her, and she wished she could drag it out to the light of day so she could confront it and abolish it. But it stubbornly refused to show itself.

The _Blackbird_ crossed New York Harbor and flew south over Staten Island, towards the rural southern section. Maria seemed to be peering ahead harder than ever, and Jean found herself peering with her, hoping to see something, anything, to indicate why she felt as she did. Then Warren landed very suddenly, as she could see a house about two hundred yards ahead of them.

"Is that it, sir?" she asked the Professor.

"It is, Jean." He turned to Warren. "Scout ahead, Angel. The rest of us will be along soon."

Warren grinned and flew straight for the house. The others got out of the _Blackbird_   and moved in formation, Maria taking the point, Hank and Bobby behind, Scott behind them, and Jean herself walking with the Professor in his chair.

"Be careful, Jean," the Professor said. "We are facing an adventure unlike any we have ever experienced."

"Yes, sir," she said carefully. What _was_ it, anyway? Then there was a loud noise from the house, just as Maria reached the front door. A flash of light blazed through the afternoon sky, right above the house. The others reached the front door, and they all slowly entered the house after Maria, Jean wheeling the Professor in cautiously.

Inside, they all stopped dead. A being who must have been fifteen feet tall stood in what had once been a living room, with a blasted ceiling that revealed blue sky and a great deal of debris from the upper floor scattered around. Angel was staring open-mouthed, along with Quicksilver and the Scarlet Witch, as Magneto and the Toad were wrapped in what appeared to be cocoons of energy. The figure dominating the scene gestured to the front wall of the room, and it burst asunder. The being walked out into the front yard, Magneto and the Toad moving alongside him. Jean wondered briefly where Mastermind was, then cautiously moved out through what had been the front wall, along with her fellow X-Men and remaining Brotherhood members. The Professor followed in his wheelchair, watching the action steadily.

The giant being turned to the Professor. "You," it said. "You are the leader of these newcomers, these young mutants, are you not?"

"I am," he replied. "And you are the figure whom I have been sensing all this time. You are not of this world, are you?"

"Of course not," he said. "I have said I am a Stranger here. A Stranger--from the stars. I travel throughout the cosmos, seeking out mutations for study. Your world had such mutant energy--! I knew that here, for sure, was a prize indeed. And now, this one--" He turned to Magneto, who was as helpless as a baby-- "has summoned me. He wished to meet me, to have me for his company. Well, _that_   wish at least I can grant. I shall take him--and this other one, whose loyalty is so touching and who does not wish to be parted from his master. We shall never return."

"Help me, Master!" the Toad shrieked. "Save me from the Stranger!"

"Charles!" Magneto cried out, and Jean felt gooseflesh rise on her skin as she realized that Magneto-- _Magneto!_ \--was doing that most basic of all "human" gestures--calling out for aid. But the Professor looked helpless. They all looked helpless.

No--not all. Maria stepped forward towards the Stranger.

* * *

 _I must be crazy. Sticking my neck out for Magneto._ But crazy or not, Maria Gianelli took one step, then another, and found herself right beneath this towering figure.

"I'm sorry," she said quietly. "Really, I am. I don't sense that you're evil. But be that as it may, I really can't allow you to take them. They're under our protection, just as much as any human is. They clearly are frightened--" _Even Magneto! Who would have believed it!_   "--and don't want to go with you. Maybe he _did_ lead with his chin here. Maybe he needs to learn a lesson. But this isn't the way. Stranger, or whoever you are, I'm afraid you're going to have to give them back."

The figure looked down on her with no expression on his face. "Child--you have courage. For this, I respect you. But no one can change me from my course--certainly, no one on _this_   planet. I have done this many times, on many worlds. My right to do so cannot be challenged. Certainly not by _you._ Please, stand aside, or else I might have to harm you. I do not wish that."

"I do not wish that, either," Maria said with a sigh. "Believe me, I don't. But I'm not standing aside. And I'm pretty tough. I'm not sure you could harm me. I'm pretty sure you couldn't _kill_   me. Not even you."

She could sense the figure judging her, balancing her on some internal scale all its own. "You speak of what you don't know," he said. "Yes, you _do_   have courage. But my patience is wearing thin. I must depart, with these specimens in train. I tell you one last time, you must stand back."

Maria shut her eyes. _Maybe I_ _can_ _die. Maybe I die right here. If I do, then I've done my best. I love you, Hank._ She needed height, weight, breadth. One of her "Ent" Shift forms. The most solid one she could find. The Oak. That was the best she could do here. The Stranger, his tall figure exuding energy as he held the two mutants in their cocoons, watched her. Maria Shifted--

_What the hell?_

* * *

Jean Grey watched Maria Gianelli transformed. Not into whatever Shift form she had been planning, she knew that. But into something utterly unique, something that she just _knew_   was as astonishing to Maria as it was to her, to all of them watching. Even to the Stranger. Standing before them all was a figure of fire, living fire that shaped itself into the form of a bird. Majestic, terrifying, cleansing. A figure that Jean Grey watched in awe, wonder, and above all, a sense of _understanding._ She _knew_   this figure somehow, though she had never seen it before and didn't know what it was. But it was familiar to her nonetheless, so familiar... Every instinct she had made her reach out to this figure. For the moment, Magneto, the Stranger, Maria herself, were forgotten. The Universe consisted of herself, and this magnificent and beautiful figure. _I come, I come to you!_   she cried out to it in her thoughts, knowing that words would have been disrespectful. And she sensed the figure turning towards her, seeking her out...

 _Your time shall come,_ the figure told her, and Jean was crying from the sheer beauty of its thoughts. _This day, You/I/We may only glimpse each other. This matter is minor and soon resolved. And I must depart. But You/I/We shall meet again. I shall always be there for you. Always. Through death and beyond. Until the end of time. And beyond_ _that._ _You shall not remember now. It is not meet that you should. You shall retain only the shadow of a memory, know only that you have a destiny. And the girl Maria shall not even recall_ _that_ _. But she shall not be forgotten by You/I/We._

* * *

Charles Xavier was overcome by so many emotions he couldn't even sort them out. Fear and apprehension, over the impending abduction of Magneto and the Toad by the Stranger. Awe, and pride, by Maria's fearlessness in challenging him. Then--

Total astonishment and bewilderment. What on earth was _that?_   Maria seemed as amazed as he was. She stood there, transformed into a giant bird of fire, and she cried and screamed, again and again. There was both fear and awe in her voice as she did so. She was experiencing emotions too great for her--and, Charles thought, would have been too great for anyone. Human or mutant.

It as then that he noticed that Jean was looking at the figure, face rapt, arms extended, and he knew that she was _talking_   to it, in a manner that he could not understand. It certainly was not regular telepathy, because his probing revealed nothing in her mind. But there was-- _communion-_ -between them. What was happening here? He realized that the Stranger himself was suddenly a lesser matter. And he had been wrong. The emotions were _not_   too great for anyone. They were not too great for Jean Grey. They were _natural_   for her. By God--who _was_ Jean, anyway? Had he ever really known?

* * *

Maria screamed. _Fire! I'm on fire!_   She felt the flames surrounding her, enveloping her, and realized that _this,_ whatever it was, was the fire she had feared her whole life. That _this_ would discover her some day, and consume her. And now it was happening. Fear rose in her, overwhelming all else. She didn't feel hot in any physical sense. She wasn't in pain. But what she was experiencing was worse. Her very soul was being devoured. _God--God--God--help me!_

* * *

The Stranger had lived a long life, even by cosmic standards. And never had he known astonishment like he was experiencing now. The Phoenix Force! Here, on this planet! Shock after shock overwhelmed him. The Force had adopted a mortal Avatar. This in itself was a fact of fantastic, incomprehensible import. And--

He considered the girl who had challenged him, now in the form of the Phoenix Raptor. No, she was not the Avatar. Another mutant female-- _There._ There could be no doubt. It was _her._ She was bent towards the Force as in supplication. _By God, she does not know. Not yet. This is their first meeting. This is one of the most significant moments in the history of the Universe. I am privileged to be here._

The fact of the Avatar itself was overwhelming. That the Avatar was this Earth mutant--this was transcendentally incredible, the most amazing piece of knowledge he had ever possessed, or even imagined. Nothing--not even Galactus, Eternity, the Celestials, or anything else--possessed for him the sheer numenous Awe the Phoenix force did. What it was, what it was capable of doing. Whether or not it was a piece of Infinity, or Infinity itself, was a matter for philosophers. Or, perhaps, theologians. Or, perhaps, a category of thinkers all its own. This Force, that overruled the Dominion of Death. Which was itself an apt definition of the power of Infinity.

He considered the female who had challenged him, who was now burning in the flames of the Raptor. Somehow, she had obtained a sliver, the tiniest of pieces, of the Phoenix. This, he knew, had happened before. The creature who called himself the Grandmaster, who delighted in games, had obtained a sliver of the Force once. But a sliver of Infinity was still Infinity itself, and he had the Force's basic power to overcome Death. He used it capriciously and cruelly, and the Stranger suspected that someday the Force would call him to account for it. But he did have it. And in some way, so too did this girl.

The Stranger considered the burning girl for some time. "Some time", that is, by his standards when in this mode of analysis. By the standards of the mutants surrounding him, it was taking no more than a fragment of a second. But it was enough. This was different from the Grandmaster. This young mutant hadn't in fact obtained a sliver of the Force, as he had. Rather, she was resonating with it in some manner. This other girl, the one with flaming hair who was the Avatar, had in some way "loaned" an aspect of the Force to the other girl. And when she had utilized her power with him present, he had "triggered" the resonance--with the results that he could see in front of him. But the girl was not truly in possession of the Force, even to the extent that the Grandmaster was.

The Stranger considered further. This girl--she had feared fire her whole life. She had feared _this_   fire. On some level, she had always known that this moment would come. Fascinating! How was that possible? The Stranger almost laughed. Time meant nothing to the Phoenix. This moment could cast its shadows forward and backward in Time, as the Phoenix wished. Somehow, it had permitted this female knowledge that it would someday have this tiniest moment of communion with itself, the Force. And that the girl would be overwhelmed by it--as indeed, she was being. She was not the Avatar. She had great courage and an almost limitless love and loyalty to the girl who _was_   the Avatar. And--he suddenly sensed--perhaps in time, she _would_   be able to handle her "resonance" with the Force. But for now, she was a frightened young mortal, overwhelmed by something she could not understand and confronting the most primal fear of her life.

The Avatar. She was bowed still in supplication. _She_ was not afraid. But she would not recall, either, except as a very far-off memory of a destiny she did not fully grasp yet. Well, that was enough for now. The Stranger himself would not want to understand more. He suddenly felt a strong burst of envy for this mutant. And an even greater burst of admiration, that she could confront this force, on any terms, and not be afraid.

Curiosity filled the Stranger. How had this resonance come to be? How had the Avatar managed to "share" the Force with her friend, in any way? He looked hard at both of them, and patterns emerged in his mind. They were both young. Recently, both had become women. Both had been sexually initiated. The Stranger looked into the Avatar's mind, heart, soul-- Yes. She had a transcendental capacity for love. Was this because she was the Avatar--or was she the Avatar, because she had this capacity for love? The Stranger knew he would never be able to answer this question. It was merely a fact. The Avatar's ability to love--both in what the humans would call the Platonic sense, and the Erotic sense--was in some sense the defining drive of her life. She _was_ love, personified. Her lovemaking--her partner was this young mutant wearing the eye covering, he realized--had been on a scale of such intensity, in all the meanings of the word, that she had transmitted it somehow to her friend. And when _she_ in her term became a woman--and the Stranger felt a shock, realizing this other girl's mutation and the limitations that kept her from being loved. But it had not prevented her from finding her own way towards love. When she loved--with this other mutant here, the squat one--the erotic energy had been picked up by her, in some way, from the Avatar. The Avatar was a telepath by nature, though those abilities had been blocked lately. Well, her sexual awakening had unleashed those latent telepathic abilities, and she had sent just a shadow of a sliver of a "resonance" with the Phoenix Force to the other girl. Which he, the Stranger, had triggered.

Well, there was no doubt about his course of action now. For whatever reason, and it was beyond his ability to understand, the Phoenix Force _had_   decided upon this young mutant as its Avatar. This mudball world was not such a mudball after all. No, it had a significant role to play in the destiny of the Universe. This was the mystery he had sensed ever since he came here. It also meant that _this_   world's mutants had a cosmic significance. He would have to keep his hands off them. He was not prepared to challenge the Phoenix. Not in the slightest way.

* * *

Maria felt herself sprawled on the ground. She was no longer on fire, the Shift form had vanished, and she was blessedly back to "normal". She looked up at the Stranger, and saw him carefully withdraw the energy cocoons. Magneto and the Toad were gently lowered to the ground next to Maria, and she saw Magneto looking at her with undisguised awe. Then he looked at Jean, and the awe in his face grew, if anything.

The Professor looked at Jean, and at her as well, but his face seemed beyond shock or awe. Then the Stranger spoke.

"I have been wrong," he said. "Your destiny is your own. I cannot disturb it. The mutants of your world shall be permitted to find their own path, unmolested by me. I shall be watching, of course, because you are unique. But I shall not interfere." The Stranger seemed to withdraw, to recede, until he appeared only as a far-off point of light, which finally disappeared into the heavens completely. Then they heard his voice one last time.

"I shall never return."

There was total silence. Magneto looked at the Professor, and the Professor looked at him. Jean, back to normal from wherever she had gone to, looked at Maria. Maria for her part walked over to Jean and hugged her, and the two girls were in each other's arms for some time. The others noticed that they were crying, and didn't seem embarrassed in the slightest about it. Then Scott walked over and kissed Jean passionately, and Hank did the same to Maria. Magneto looked into the sky where The Stranger had vanished, looked at the Toad, and then looked at Wanda and Pietro. Warren looked at Magneto. It was Bobby who finally spoke.

"Professor--what the hell just happened?"

"Robert--I haven't the slightest idea."

Magneto turned to Maria. "Maria--what was that figure you just Shifted into?"

She shook her head vigorously. "Magneto--I don't know! I just know that I've feared it my whole life." She turned to the Professor. "Sir-- _that's_   why I've always feared fire. I don't know how that can be, but it just _is._ I always knew I would be confronting it some day.

"That sounds unbelievable, Maria," the Professor said. "But I believe you."

Magneto took Maria's hand in his, kissed it. "Maria--the courage you showed to save me--and Mortimer here--is something I shall never forget. I do not know what the future holds for us, if we shall be foes. But I shall never forget this."

She smiled at him. "I hope we won't be enemies, Magneto. But that was just something I had to do."

"You did it very well." And he actually leaned over, took his helmet off, and kissed her on the cheek.

Jean had been silent since the departure of the Stranger. The Professor turned to her. "Jean--what happened to _you_   when Maria was turned into that firebird? You--I sense you _know_ what that was."

She shook her head. "No, sir. Or if I did, it was like dream knowledge, and it's already fading. All I know is that I will see it again some day."

The Professor seemed worried by this. "Jean--I don't know if we can leave it at that. This is something of obvious import to us. It made the Stranger leave us, this world, alone. We must know more." He turned to Maria. "Could you Shift into that form again, Maria?"

"Hell, no!"

"I'm not asking you to, Maria. I'm only asking if you _could._ "

"I don't know and I don't care." Then she took a deep breath. "Professor--I don't think so. I can Shift into anything I can imagine. I cannot imagine _that._ Really--it's beyond my ability to comprehend. It just _happened._ "

"She can't," Jean said. "And there's nothing you can do about it, sir. _It_   will determine when it appears again. All we can do is be ready."

"But--"

Jean came over and gently put her fingers over his mouth. "Hush, sir. I'm sorry, but in this thing I am wiser than you. We must return to our lives, our tasks, our plans. There is much to do. I for one am ready to do it."

"As am I," Magneto said. "Well, Charles, there goes yet _another_ hideout. I shall procure another." He looked startled. "My God! Poor Wyngarde!" A moment later, Maria had brought the mass that had been Mastermind up from the basement of the house, and Magneto and the Professor looked at him.

"If there is anything I can do to help, Eric, please let me know."

Magneto nodded to the Professor. "Thank you, Charles. I shall keep your offer of help in mind. Come, the rest of you. It is time we departed." They did so, and the X-Men also returned to the Mansion. Maria did not speak much the next few days, nor did Jean. Then slowly, they became their usual vivacious selves. But both Scott and Hank--and Charles Xavier--felt that things would never be the same for either of them.

* * *

The Berkshires sped off into infinity on this crisp April day. A certain figure looked north, towards Vermont, feeling grateful for the beautiful day, for the mountains, for the gift of being alive and able to experience it all. Its exile seemed more bearable here, at the place it had come to regard as its spiritual home, than it would have been, say, in New York. _These mountains were not much different in 2012 than they are here in 1965. The same mountains, the same vistas. Civilization-- Ah. That is a different matter entirely._

The figure sighed deeply to itself. The Stranger had left Earth. Without Magneto. The scenario it had foreseen--The Stranger triggering the Phoenix Raptor--had occurred, after all. As a result, Magneto was still in play. The Brotherhood was still a reality. Except for Wyngarde. The figure sighed. _An idiot. But no one deserves_ _that_ _. Magnus will be able to restore him, I hope._ Then the figure remembered something, and laughed. _I have too soft a heart for my own good._

How was the game to be played out now? Would Magnus' presence be good or bad? It had thought possibly it would be bad. But if he and Xavier kept their collaboration going... Yes. _That_ was a possibility, and maybe a positive one. _The situation here is much more dangerous than I could have imagined. The Sentinels are going to play out differently here than they did in my world, my memory. Trask is even more unstable than I could have imagined. And he has others supporting him._ The figure thought of that for a moment, then smiled. _Graydon Creed is in for a surprise. He deserves it._


	48. A Bargain is Struck

Chapter Forty-eight

* * *

Graydon Creed walked down Park Avenue with a spring in his step. He almost was strutting. Life was good. The PR offensive against the freaks had failed, but that didn't matter. He could just shut his eyes whenever he saw the insufferable Grey girl on another damned magazine cover. Her time was coming. All their times were coming.

Trask, he knew, was willing to use the Sentinels to strike at mutants inside the USSR. He was willing to do so, despite the risk of Soviet retaliation. Creed wasn't worried about this. He knew--what Trask did not--that elements in the Kremlin welcomed the cleansing of the mutants just as much as he, Creed, did. Whatever their ideological differences, both capitalists and Communists were human beings. They had solidarity at least in that. And Marshall Balakin, and Assistant Secretary Kochev, were able men. They could get Brezhnev and Kosygin to see reason when the time came.

He walked into his apartment house, and took the elevator to the twentieth floor. He entered his apartment, and froze. What was it--? Yes; someone was here. Someone, he knew immediately, who was _not_   his bodyguard.

"Max?" he said cautiously. "Max? Where are you?" Creed was an extreme martial arts expert. He also carried a gun at all times, and withdrew it from his shoulder holster. He kept asking for his bodyguard, though he knew that Max was either dead or disabled. He wondered who it was. Magneto? One of the mutie-loving fellow travelers? Or could it be-- He felt a sick sensation inside. _Oh no..._

A sharp blow to his right temple, and he was unconscious as quickly as that. When he came to, he saw his living room spinning groggily around him. He took some deep breaths, rather surprised at still being alive. He looked around him. _Jesus!_ There was Max, all right. He had been cut to pieces by what appeared to be a giant predator. _Oh, my God!_

"Hello, son," a clear voice came from behind. A voice he had devoutly hoped he would never hear again. Victor Creed walked into his field of vision, claws red-tipped with blood. "Gosh, just look at you! How you've grown! A real chip off the old block. Don't you agree, honey?"

 _No. Oh, no._ His mother, Raven Darkholme, walked up to his hateful freak of a father and stared at her son.

"Dear Graydon. How nice. We're having a family reunion. Like all families should have, once in awhile." She smiled at Victor, her teeth a rictus. "How long _has_   it been, darling?"

"Oh, much too long," Victor said heartily. "And how's my Junior today? Learn anything in school, Champ?" He chucked Graydon beneath his chin. "Are you studying, boy? Or is Daddy going to have to--discipline--you?"

Graydon finally was able to find his voice. "What corner of hell did _you_   two damned freaks crawl out of?"

"I don't think he's glad to see us, honey," Victor said affably. He walked over and kicked his son in the stomach. Graydon grunted, gasped, and refused to give this monster the satisfaction of crying out. Let him kill him, if he wanted. Others would take his place--

"Well, I don't entirely blame him, dear. Not if you're going to treat him like _that._ " Mystique, his hellish, devoutly-hated mother, came over to Graydon. "Poor boy. What a shame, seeing you like this. Aren't you glad to see Mommy?" And she bent over and kissed Graydon deeply on the lips. "Mommy is _very_   glad to see her darling boy."

"Go to hell, you damned bitch!"

"Well. Is _that_ any way to speak to Mommy, after all this time?" And she smiled at her son, and slapped him across the face with such explosive force that it took Graydon some time before he could get his wits back. Finally, he shook his head and spat out the words: "What the hell do you two want, anyway?"

"Ah," Victor said, nodding agreeably. "At last, darling! We're getting down to business. Raven--show dear Graydon what we want."

"With pleasure." And his damned mother stood there, laughing, and morphed into another form. He blinked. He _was_ dreaming. Because standing in front of him was himself. Down to the last molecule. The deception was perfect. It would fool anybody.

"Does his answer your question, darling boy?" Mystique said--in _his_   voice.

"Oh, my God," Graydon said slowly. "The Sentinels."

"Indeed, my dear Graydon," came _his_   voice to his ears. "The Sentinels. I'm sort of going to take over your life for awhile. Victor here is going to take _you_   with him to a nice, safe place where the two of you can spend time together. The way a father and son should."

Victor winked at Graydon. "You bet. We're going to have _lots_ of fun, boy. Just me and you." And he smiled, his obscene teeth gleaming in the light. Graydon shuddered.

"Just kill me," he said. "Just do it, both of you! Because if you don't, I swear to God, before the Sentinels become operational and all of you damned freaks get plowed under anyway, I'm going to provide a special fate for the two of you. A _very_ special fate. And I'll enjoy every second of it."

Victor and Raven looked at each other with wistful smiles. "He really _does_   take after you, Victor," Raven said.

"No, my dear, I do believe he takes after _you_ more."

"Well, we'll be arguing over _that_   for, jeepers, years and years!" And Raven came over, and Graydon saw his own form give him another chop to the temple, and once more the world went black.

* * *

Bobby and Warren were having an exercise in the Danger Room. Maria was in the control room, running the exercise with her usual jaunty efficiency. Her voice came over the speaker.

"OK, boys. This is real simple. Warren--you have to get from one side of the Room to the other, then back again. Bobby--youi have to stop him. A classic 'challenge' Danger Room test. Bobby--you are _not_ permitted to just freeze up the whole ceiling. You have to give Warren a fair chance. Warren. _You_   may not descend below ten feet above the floor. Are the ground rules understood?"

"Yeah, yeah," Bobby said. "Let's get it on. I'm anxious to see Warren's feathers plucked."

"Ah, the optimism of youth." Warren smiled in a superior fashion that Bobby didn't mind. That was just his way. Bobby felt confident. Warren flew up to the ceiling, went to the far end of the room. A bell rang, and the test was on.

Bobby froze the corners of the room immediately. This left a path in the middle of the room, and Warren was already launching himself down that path. But he had wasted just a moment at the start by trying to maneuver around the corner of the room closest to the control room and Maria, and by the time he found that blocked and got back to the central corridor, Bobby had already iced the other side of the ceiling, where Warren had to touch and return. There was only a six-foot gap in the ceiling there--the "fair chance" Bobby had to leave. When Warren was half-way across the room on the first leg of the trip, he suddenly encountered an ice mesh cage, with an opening large enough for him--but only if he slowed down to squeeze through. He did this, and headed again for the six-foot area for his touch. His speed was cautious now, but he touched the wall and turned around for the trip back to the opposite wall.

Taking a deep breath, Bobby kept the ice cage in place, but created an ice tunnel immediately after it that Warren would have to move through. He stopped the tunnel at fifteen feet above the floor--the "fair chance". When Warren came out the far end of the tunnel, he'd find Bobby there, ready to encrust Warren in an ice overcoat, grounding him--and winning the exercise. Or so the plan went.

In fact, Warren stopped before the ice mesh cage on his return trip, turned around, and flapped his wings at their maximum speed and strength right at the cage. The winds created by this strained at the cage, and in a moment Bobby heard the sickening sound of the cage beginning to crack. He ran to the far end of the room--too late. Warren simply flew above his "tunnel", and--his speed a blur--was at the far wall almost before Bobby could register him with his eyes. A bell rang after Warren had tapped the wall.

"Decision, Warren," Maria sang out. Bobby kicked the floor of the Room.

"Good job, Warren" he said. "I thought I had you there."

"It doesn't pay to underestimate our Angel," Maria said brightly.

"It was a good challenge, Bob," Warren said, holding out his hand. Bobby grabbed it, and they shook.

"You both did well," Maria said. "And so my report to the Professor shall indicate." Bobby just nodded, while Warren smiled up at Maria.

"Thanks, babe," he said. "How about you? _You_ want a test?"

Maria laughed. "I've been through the fire. No, thanks."

* * *

That night, after they made love, Jean turned to Scott. "Scott--"

"Yes, Jean?"

"Under what circumstances would you _not_   love me?"

Scott froze. "What on earth are you talking about, Jean?"

She sighed, buried herself underneath the blanket. "What I said, Scott. What if I was--became--something other than I am?"

There was silence for a moment. "Does this have something to do with that bird of fire Maria turned into, Jean? You've been very reticent to discuss that. Even with me."

"I know, Scott." She appeared from beneath the blanket and held onto Scott, as if for dear life. "But Scott--! Tell me. _Please._ If I-- _did-_ -become something different. Something that you couldn't understand. Don't ask me what I mean, I can't tell you--! _I_   don't understand, myself. But I _fear._ For the future. For _us._ If I was someone other than Good Old Jean Grey, the Mutant Girl Next Door--Scott! Oh, Scott! _Would_   you still love me then? No matter _what_   I might be, or become?"

Scott grabbed her, and found she was shivering. "Jean! Oh, Jean! How can you ask that! You think I love you because you're a Mutant Girl Next Door? Jean--you are passion and life. And love. You _define_ love. Nothing will ever change that. Don't ask absurd questions about things that can't happen."

She kissed him passionately. "Oh, Scott, I know, I know! I really don't remember much about that experience, to be honest. But it's left me so--I don't know! I feel as if there were aspects of myself, my life, that I know nothing of. That seems silly, but I can't explain it any better than that."

Scott looked at her. "The Professor has explained it as a sort of ghost-effect of the Stranger's powers. That it just had a bizarre, freakish impact on Maria's Shift power. And that your psychic abilities were triggered in some way by it." He paused. "You don't feel those abilities now, do you? Anywhere within you?"

Jean shook her head. "No, Scott. Not at all. And that explanation the Professor has given--I can't argue with it. I have no arguments. But it doesn't _feel_ right." She was silent for a moment. "And Maria doesn't agree with it, either."

"She's told you that?"

"Yes, Scott. She doesn't know _what_   it was, and neither do I. But we both feel that there was--is--something about it that was meant for _us._ That had nothing to do with the Stranger."

"Have you told the Professor this?"

"Yes. He doesn't quite know what to make of it, Scott. He gave his explanation because he dare not consider any alternatives."

Scott lay back, and Jean could feel the tension and concern within him. She gave a cry, and kissed his stomach, his chest, rubbed his pressure points and massaged his back and neck. This went on for awhile, actually, and by the end of it Scott took her in his arms and kissed her passionately. She responded in equal measure. "Jean--"

"Yes, Scott?"

"I only have two rubbers left until the day after tomorrow, when I visit my, uh, supplier. We've already used two tonight. If you don't stop what you're doing, we're only going to have one for tomorrow night. I'm reaching the point of no return here, pretty quickly."

"Well, Rhett, you know what Miz Scarlett said."

"And what might that be?"

"Tomorrow is another day."

* * *

"Miss Frost. Thank you so much for responding to my invitation."

Emma Frost looked up at the man-mountain behind the desk. Wilson Fisk was almost a bogeyman, a legend mentioned only in whispers--even in the precincts of the Hellfire Club. Power, money, secrecy, were facts of all-too-mundane life within its walls. But even there, Wilson Fisk was regarded as something special. When she had been invited to a meeting with him, she had been intrigued and accepted immediately. Some instinct had warned her against mentioning the meeting to Shaw, and she was glad of that now. This man was formidable--as much so as rumor had it. Emma was fascinated, and a little intimidated. And that was not an emotion she usually felt.

"Mr Fisk, I could hardly turn down an offer to meet _you._ "

The giant behind the desk smiled tightly, bowed perhaps a half-an-inch. "My thanks, Miss Frost." Emma relaxed a little bit, crossed her legs. She was wearing a mini-dress three inches above the knee, and a pair of boots. She could usually calibrate the effect she had on men to the millimeter. This man was not impressed. At all. And she didn't have to read his mind, either. In point of fact, she was afraid to do that. She felt that he'd know about it.

"What might I do for you, Mr Fisk?"

"Ah, my dear Miss Frost, it's more a matter of what _I_   may do for _you._ "

She raised her brows. "Mr Fisk! That is _so_ gallant of you. I did not know that I had ever been in a position to acquire any favors from you."

Fisk's smile seemed to freeze. "Shall I get to the point, Miss Frost?"

"I've always found that that's the best way to conduct business, Mr Fisk."

"Excellent." Fisk lit a cigarette, offered it to Emma, who accepted. "Miss Frost, have you ever tried to read Edward Buckman's mind?"

Emma blinked. "My! You _are_ to the point, Mr Fisk!"

"I try to avoid wasting time--my own, and my guests'," he said. "It makes things easier for everybody."

"Well." Emma crossed her legs again, forgetting--or not caring--that this made no effect on her host. "I won't insult you by denying I have this ability, or wondering how _you_ heard of it. I try to avoid wasting time, too. The short answer is yes, I have, and the results have been inconclusive. Either Buckman has remarkable mental self-control, or he's cheating somehow."

Fisk grunted. "A good answer, Miss Frost. You are a woman after my own heart. Shaw. What does he feel about Buckman?"

She waved a hand. "Oh, Shaw thinks Ned walks on water. Ned is 'candid' with Sebastian. Tells him that the Council of the Chosen suspects him--Ned--because he sticks up for the mutants in the Club. And in fact, there _have_ been resignations from the Council, seemingly over this very matter. Shaw thinks that Ned is going to invite _him_ to join the Council practically any day now."

"And you, Miss Frost? What do you think?"

Emma sighed. She recalled what Pierce had told her once, months ago. She thought of what Lourdes said--not that she cared what that Spanish bitch thought. She thought of a lot of things. "Mr Fisk, I would not trust Ned Buckman as far as I could throw him."

Fisk nodded appreciatively. "Excellent, Miss Frost, excellent. Would it interest you to know that these 'resignations' from the Council of the Chosen have been carefully stage-managed, for the specific purpose of fooling your Mr Shaw--and, to a lesser extent, you, Lourdes, and Mr Leland?"

Emma was very silent for a long time. "The hell you say," she finally said. "Mr Fisk--that's impossible, really it is. I mind-scanned those departing members. For this very reason--to see if they were sincere, or playing some charade. They _were_ sincere. I know it."

Fisk chuckled. "My dear Emma--you don't mind my using your first name, do you?"

Emma made an impatient gesture. "No, no, Mr Fisk. But what--?"

Fisk shrugged with his hands, a gesture that was more impressive than a shrug with their whole body would be for anyone else. "My dear Emma--there are ways of fooling a telepath. I hope I don't have to elucidate them for you. The easiest and simplest is using another. This Buckman--and Trask--and Creed--have done. And they _have_   fooled you."

" _Who?_ " Emma almost spat out. "A _mutant?_   Working with _them?_   Who, dammit! I'll drive a stake through their heart!"

"No, you will not," Fisk said easily. "Not all telepaths are mutants, my dear. This one is human enough, and is not even really a telepath. Not in the strictest sense. His name is Mordo, and he is a down-on-his-heels member of European nobility. He has some training in so-called 'magic'. And a great, and growing, need for money. Graydon Creed has answered that need, and Mordo, in return, has cast a so-called 'spell' around the Council of the Chosen which makes their real thoughts impenetrable to telepaths. Like you."

Emma took a deep breath. "I see," she said. "Very well, Mr Fisk. Where exactly is this discussion going? What service can you do for me, anyway?"

"I can keep you alive, Emma. From the holocaust that's fast approaching."

"Can you, indeed. And I suppose Shaw can't?"

Fisk shrugged. "If you wish to take your chances with him--"

Emma shut her eyes. This was getting to be too much for her. She didn't _want_   to be disloyal to anybody. But she liked breathing, too. She looked up at Fisk. "What exactly are you proposing, Mr Fisk? What's in this for _you?_ "

He nodded. "That's better. I shall tell you exactly who in your life you can trust, and who you can't. _I_   know these things, of course, Mordo or no Mordo. And when the time comes, I shall protect you from the Sentinels."

"Only me?"

"Only you, dear Emma. Shaw's--gullibility--makes him a dangerous playmate. For you. And certainly for me."

"I see." And God help her, Emma _did_   see. _I'm sorry, Sebastian._ "And what do you want in return?" _My God--could it be as simple as_ _that_ _? Servicing_ _this_ _behemoth? Just a matter of whoring myself?_ But Fisk shook his head.

"No, no, my dear, you underestimate me. I have no interest in you _that_   way." He smiled. "Emma--I have all sorts of things I can put my hands on at a moment's notice. But one thing I do _not_ have is a reliable telepath. _You_   shall be my telepath--a member of my official team, so to speak. Needless to say, you shall remain by Shaw's side at the Hellfire Club. You shall inform me of everything that happens there. You shall also be utilized by me, as I wish, to spy telepathically on anyone and everyone whom I choose to unleash you against. In return, I shall do what I have promised for you. Do we have a deal?"

Emma took a deep breath. There was no real contest here. None at all. She would infinitely rather have Shaw as an enemy, if it came down to it, than this man. She nodded.

"Mr Fisk, we have a deal."

* * *

Frank Gianelli was waved by Betty into Jameson's office. Jonah was on the phone, but indicated that Frank should sit down. He did so, and Jameson's call ended a moment later.

"Well, Frank," he said with a shrug. "Where are we, anyway?"

Frank swallowed before answering. Being on a first-name basis with Jameson was, if anything, even more nerve-wracking that the days of "Mr Jameson" were. "Jonah--I've learned that Trask has the considerable backing of a certain Graydon Creed. Head of an organization known as 'Friends of Humanity'. Lots and lots of money, and he spreads it around like manure. _He_   was the one behind the anti-mutant TV campaign a few weeks back. The fiasco."

Jameson grunted. "The damned X-Men are just too soft and cuddly for anyone to believe that shit. My God, trying to make your sister's concern for children into something sinister! Nobody since Babe Ruth has loved kids so publicly and ostentatiously. And the Grey girl as a sinister mutant harpy! If _that's_ the best they can do, they're no real threat to anybody."

Frank sighed. "Well, Jonah, I wouldn't disagree with that as far as it goes. But Creed's money goes to more than half-assed ad agencies. He's given money to The Hellfire Club, for instance. Lots of it. Especially its head, Edward Buckman."

Jameson started. "Ned Buckman? _I_   know him, Frank. He even invited me to join the damned Club. I refused. Didn't like the smell of the place. But he seems all right. You're sure?"

"Very sure, Jonah."

Jameson looked unhappy. "Well, Christ. What do you know about _that._ " He looked at Frank. "Needless to say, this means nothing in our hunting down of all this."

Frank smiled. "I never figured it did, sir. Which is why I've learned something else. Graydon Creed's bodyguard, Max Williams, was killed recently. Someone tried to get to Creed in his apartment. Williams was there, and was just cut to pieces. Creed called the police, said it was some lunatic. Interestingly, he _didn't_ say it was a mutant trying to get revenge. Whether it was or not, you'd think he'd _claim_ it was, wouldn't you?"

Jameson was silent for awhile. "Yes, Frank, you _would_ think so, wouldn't you? Hmmph. Good work. See what you can find out about it."

"Yes, sir." He was silent for a minute. "Jonah--"

"Hmm?" Jameson seemed to be lost in thought.

Frank looked his employer in the eyes. "Jonah--we're in deep shit. I mean, _really_   deep shit. This makes Foswell and his Syndicate look like a three-card monte game."

Jameson frowned. "Getting cold feet, Frank?"

"Hell, no. But we're in for a helluva ride. Let's be sure we have our seat belts fastened."

Jameson smiled slightly. "I always do, Frank. I always do."


	49. Double Switch

Chapter Forty-nine

* * *

Raven buried "her" head in "her" hands and wished she was somewhere, anywhere, else. The offices of Friends of Humanity were a nightmare. And not only--or primarily--because she was a mutant in enemy territory. Rather, because it was being run by her accursed son. And he turned everything he touched to shit. It was the one trait of his you could take to the bank.

She sighed. She was surprised by Graydon's total immersion in the Friends. He had lots of interests and lots of sources of money. These days, he ignored them to concentrate fully on his unfortunate obsessions. Which meant he spent most of his time _here._ Amongst every genetic supremacist who had an angle, an audience, anything. And he--Graydon--seemed to have nothing better to do than listen to them, here in his office. The appointment book was filled with them. Raven sat behind her desk, glumly trying to make conversation with people clearly puzzled as to why their good friend and patron Graydon Creed seemed to have lost so much of his enthusiasm for the Cause.

And then, of course--

His office door opened, and Graydon's secretary entered. She was a blonde in her mid-twenties, with a figure like an hourglass and a 44-inch bustline. Which she emphasized by sweaters that looked as if they had been sprayed on. Her hips swayed outrageously as she walked. And she knew--as Raven discovered her first day on the job--that the private bathroom to "his" office opened out on the other side to a small bedroom, with a large double-bed. And Janice--the secretary--made it very clear that she and Graydon knew that little room very well indeed.

"Grayyyydon," the secretary crooned in a sickly-sweet soprano. "Why don't you ever invite me into your little den anymore? Are you angry at me? Has poor Janice done something wrong? Has she displeased Daddy Graydon?" She came right up to Raven's chest with her ridiculous one, and leaned over so that she was touching him with her breasts.

"No, no, Janice," Raven said wearily. "Just--well, I've been _so_   busy lately. The situation is _so_ dire--"

"Oh, it always is," she said, voice with a hint of impatience. "But I want to have my Daddy Graydon back where he belongs. With _me._ " She cuddled even closer, if possible, and whispered into "his" ear: "Please, Daddy Graydon. Let me hear you tell me my special pet name. Just as only _you_ can say it."

Raven shut her eyes. What could this creature's "pet name" be, anyway? Elsie the Cow? "Later, Janice." _Much later._ "I'm just not in the mood."

"I can fix that!" And her eyes sparkled.

Raven considered. Once or twice in her illustrious career, she had had to do service in this fashion. That is, make love to a woman as a man. And she hated it. It was disgusting and undignified. She thought of Irene. How loving and gentle _she_ could be. She looked at Janice. _Oh, God._

Janice pouted. "I'm beginning to think you don't love me anymore, Graydon. Do you _want_   me thinking that?"

Raven considered. _Did_ she want that, anyway? Would it give rise, possibly, to suspicion? But suspicion of what? That Graydon wasn't really Graydon? Could this creature suspect such a thing for a moment? But then--how could she, Raven, know exactly _what_   her miserable son might have told this woman about his background? For all she knew, Janice had been carefully coached to detect signs that she, Raven, was impersonating him. Maybe the "pet name" was one of their tests. Anything was possible. She gulped. Was she really going to do this?

Saved by the bell. The phone rang. Janice picked it up, said with a trace of disgust: "For you, Daddy Graydon. That insufferable Trask person." Raven grabbed the phone as if she were reaching for a lifesaver, and Janice swivelled out of his office. "Hello?" she said.

"Graydon," Trask said. Raven took a breath. Nothing in the activities of the Friends had so far indicated any involvement in anything remotely like the Sentinels. Just a bunch of crackpots venting their hatred at the modern world. At mutants. And Negroes, Jews, liberals, you name it. She had suffered through endless hours of it. Her son seemed to draw them out of the woodwork. She got rid of most of them at the first mention of any non-mutant prejudices, telling them that human distinctions didn't interest her or the Friends. This seemed to surprise a couple of her erstwhile guests, but she didn't care. She hadn't the slightest concern about her son's reputation with his fellow cranks, when he returned. _If_   he returned. She smiled to herself, wondering how the father-son reunion was getting along.

"Bolivar," she answered. This was the first time she had spoken to Trask since this damned masquerade started. Maybe she'd learn something. If not, she was tempted to go back to Fisk and tell him he was wasting both of their time.

"Listen, Graydon--I've just heard from Ned Buckman. Shaw has been reeled in like a fish. He's eating out of Ned's hand. Ned has him completely bamboozled. Things are going well at the Club."

"That's excellent, Bolivar. Just excellent." Club. Shaw. Was this the Hellfire Club? Fisk had mentioned them as being in bed with Trask. And "Shaw". An obvious reference to Sebastian Shaw, the mutant engineer and industrialist. Was _he_ involved with the Hellfire Club? If so, he was in deep waters.

"I thought you might like it." Was this all Trask wanted to talk about? Raven had to get him to say more. Take a stab in the dark--

"How's the time-table going? Are we still on schedule?"

Trask chuckled quietly. "Exactly on schedule, Graydon. Believe me, when we're ready, _you'll_   be the first person I tell."

"Good, Bolivar. Very good." She thought, then took a real stab in the dark. "Who will our first victims be? Magneto, or the X-Men? Or do we make it a joint venture?"

There was a pause. "Well, we've had our protocols in place for some time, Graydon. _You_ know that." He chuckled. "Just getting jumpy, eh? Anxious to start?"

"Very anxious," Raven said hollowly. Don't say anymore. Don't risk showing your ignorance. But Trask continued.

"Indeed, Graydon. It will be fun to see the expression on the face of that damned mutie whore mother of yours, when she realizes that _she's_ the first victim of the Sentinels. We'll cleanse the Federal Government as the initial step. _Her_   head will look good on your trophy wall, won't it?"

Raven thought for a moment that she'd throw up. "Oh, yes, Bolivar," she was finally able to say. "I've been looking forward to that day for many years."

Trask chuckled. "So you've always told me." And the line went dead. Raven sat there, shuddering. Overcome with sheer hatred at her offspring, and disgust at the necessity of having to continue this damned masquerade. At least things couldn't get any worse today--

His office door opened again. Janice walked in, and smiled. "I can't wait another _minute,_ Daddy Graydon. I have to have you _now._ "

Raven smiled. She hoped eagerly. "Of course, my darling Janice." _Don't arouse suspicion. Don't arouse suspicion. Don't--_ She walked to the small bedroom with the attitude of one going to their execution.

* * *

The night sky of spring opened up to Jean Grey's gaze. Walking here in the grounds of the Mansion, far from the smog of Manhattan, she looked. There was the Big Dipper, off to the north. There was Orion, and his belt. Venus was blazing to the west. And there was Mars, subtly but clearly glowing red over in the east. She sighed, felt a longing she didn't understand. The stars--she _belonged_   there. She didn't know why she felt this, but she did. She felt torn, almost cut in two. Part of her was earth-bound, solid, the lover of Scott Summers, the daughter of John and Elaine Grey, the student of Charles Xavier. Sensible. Reliable. Why, then, did she feel that the fire of the night was her real home?

"Penny for your thoughts, Red." Maria strode up to her, seemingly as insouciant as ever. But Jean sensed something bothering the other girl. Jean had felt a certain reticence with Maria ever since the Stranger incident--almost as if the two girls both knew something they were afraid to tell the other. They had discussed it, but both knew they were holding back. But now, Maria was taking the initiative. And Jean knew with a sigh that Maria was not one for half-measures.

"Good evening, Maria," Jean said. "You'd waste your penny. My thoughts are very dull these days."

Maria laughed out loud. "What was that about you and lying, Jean? Actually, your thoughts are dark and deep. Believe me, Red, I can _tell._ "

"Oh?" Jean said, almost annoyed. "And just how can you tell _that,_ Maria?"

"Because mine are," Maria said. "And we think alike. Especially these days."

Jean sighed. "I guess we do. All right, Maria. To be strictly honest, I'm looking up at the night sky and wondering why I feel as much at home _there_ as I do _here._ Since you're mirroring my own thoughts so well, perhaps you have an answer."

"Well, I dunno. Maybe you wanted to go with the Stranger? As a substitute for Magneto?"

"With _you_ along?" Jean said almost nastily. "As a substitute for the Toad?" But Maria only laughed, and Jean joined her after a second.

"Well, aren't you in a mood tonight," Maria said, but her voice was quiet and clear, as befit the night.

"Maria--"

"Yes, Jean?"

"What do you remember about the Stranger? What he did to you? How did you feel?"

Maria was quiet for awhile. "I was scared, Jean. Scared out of my wits. I _thought_ I was going into one of my 'Ent' Shifts. And I found myself on fire. And I don't know why. Or how. Oh, I know the Stranger must have done it somehow. But what it all meant--" Maria shook her head. "I also remember acting crazy when it was over. Telling the Professor that _that_   was why I had always been afraid of fire. My whole life! For years _before_ the incident happened. I think he chalked that up to shock. _I_ chalk it up to shock, now. It couldn't be true." She looked hard at Jean. "Could it?"

Jean shook her head. "I don't see how it could be, Maria." She looked again at the night sky. "I don't remember anything of that business now. Except that I felt-- _safe._ Safer than I've ever been in my life. Like whatever that firebird was, it was saying something only I could hear. Something wonderful. And terrifying." She paused, looked at her friend. "Does that answer you, Maria?"

"I guess so." Maria took Jean's hand. "The Stranger must have had something in mind when he did that. To me, and maybe to you, too. Aren't you curious as to what it is? Do you think we'll see him again?"

"Oh, I hope not." Jean shuddered. "But, Maria--if the _only_   thing I feared was the Stranger, I'd be happy."

"What do you mean?"

Jean shook her head impatiently. "Oh, _I_ don't know! Just a feeling... Maria. If that incident with the Stranger _wasn't_   what caused your fear of fire--and I agree that that sounds impossible--then what _did_   cause it?"

It was Maria's turn to look up at the night sky. "Venus is very bright tonight, Jean."

"So it is. And that's a pretty sloppy way of avoiding my question."

"It was the only thing that I could come up with on the spur of the moment."

"Do you want to talk about it?" Jean said. "Maria--we're _always_   there for each other. If our lives mean anything, it's that. Please don't shut me out."

Maria hugged Jean. "Oh, kid--! You're _so_ good. Much too good for me. You don't know what a stinker I really am."

"Oh, don't I? And you're still avoiding the question."

Maria laughed out loud. "Aye aye, captain! No more evasions. Jean, I don't have the goddamest idea on earth why I fear fire. Except that I _do_   believe that that business with the Stranger was why. There! _That's_ the simple truth. Call me crazy, then. The Professor does. Not in so many words, but he's being 'reasonable' with me. Sweet reasonableness itself. I can't argue with anything he says. I just don't believe it for a minute."

"Are you still afraid of fire, Maria?"

Maria was silent for a second. "Damn--! Jean--I haven't given that a moment's thought since this happened. By God--I don't think I am!"

"Then the fire purged you of your fear."

"It must have!" Maria paused. "Is that good or bad?"

"How can it be bad?"

"Because if it _did_   purge me of my fear--then maybe it caused it in the first place, after all."

Jean considered this. If what Maria said was true, then time wasn't what the textbooks and the experts said it was. Rather, it was what the mystics and romantics always said it was. There had been rumors--of Dr Doom and a time machine. She had never asked the Professor about them, regarding them as too bizarre for credence. Maybe that had been a mistake.

"I don't know, Maria," Jean said. "I only know that I'm not the same person after the incident with the Stranger. For better or worse."

"Don't we all know _that,_ " Maria said. "Did you hear what you said to the Professor after it was all over?"

"What do you mean?"

Maria laughed. "He was asking you about that firebird. You were acting strangely when it was enveloping me--the Professor thought you were _talking_ to it. And when it was all over, he asked you. And you put your hand on his lips, and told him basically to mind his own business. 'I'm wiser than you are about this, Professor', you said. I tell you, that struck _me_ as weird."

Jean listened, horrified. "I _didn't_   say that! Oh, Maria, I couldn't have!"

"These shell-like ears heard every word, Red."

"Oh, my God! I'll have to go to him and apologize! What must he have _thought_ of me!"

"I think he was just too zonked out by what had happened to notice much, Jean. As we all were. Especially _you._ You were out of it for a few days, I can tell you."

"I know." Jean shook her head in frustration. "Oh, God! I feel so different--yet don't know _why!_ I wonder if I'll _ever_   know!"

"Oh, Red, you'll know. Believe me."

Jean looked hard at Maria. "Why do you say that?"

"Because _I_ know something, too, after my encounter with the fire."

"What, Maria?" Jean asked, almost as if she were a child.

"That this didn't happen by accident. For either of us. That's all I know. But it's pretty important, wouldn't you agree, Jean?"

Jean Grey looked at the stars again. All she had to do was raise her arms, accept her fate, and she could ascend to them. It would be easy. All she had to do was abandon her humanity. And Scott. That brought her back to earth with a sharp crash. She looked a bit sheepishly at Maria.

"Yes, Maria. That's pretty important, all right."

"Good. Now how about going in for a ping-pong game before turning in?" She leered slightly. "Work up an appetite."

Jean threw some branches telekinetically at the other girl. "What a mind you've got! Anyway, I _always_ beat you at ping-pong! My TK is so much faster than those rocky reflexes of yours!"

"Yeah, well, since I can't turn off my power, we can't play 'no powers'. That gives you the advantage. I accept it like the loyal sidekick I am."

"You're on, you freak."

* * *

John Grey woke with a start. His dreams had been vague and uncertain of late, but this night he had been dreaming of Jean--which he often did--with Maria. Only in the dream, they were somewhere not on Earth, and they were somehow in opposition to each other... He shook his head. Just an unpleasant dream that stopped before it turned into a nightmare, already fading.

He paused. Elaine wasn't next to him. He looked around, and she wasn't in the room.

"Elaine?" he asked softly, then a bit louder. "Elaine?" He got up, looked around the house. No sign of his wife. But the front door was open--

He found her in the front yard. She had a robe wrapped around her, and was looking up at the night sky. She had been crying.

"Elaine! Dearest--what's wrong?" John walked up to his wife and held her, as she kept crying. Finally, Elaine Grey looked her husband in the eyes.

"John--we've lost her. Our daughter. Jean. She's lost to us--far more than Sara is, or ever could be."

"You mean because she's a mutant?" John said tenderly.

"No! Oh, of course I mean yes, that too. But not _only_   that. Or because of Scott. I know there's nothing we can do about _that,_ and I don't want to. She's like me there, John--saw what she wanted, and went out and got it." Elaine paused. "You _do_ know they sleep together, John."

John Grey sighed. "Yes, Elaine, I know. I've known ever since I saw them together at Christmas. I accept it. She's a woman now, and nothing could keep them apart."

"No," Elaine said. "Nothing. She takes after us in _that_ respect, too."

"Then what do you mean, she's lost to us? In a way that Sara isn't? Because she's a celebrity now?"

Elaine laughed. "No, God no! Or at least, not _only_ that, John, though that's part of it. No, John. Jean is lost to us because she's going beyond a horizon, a horizon we can't reach ourselves. Can't you _see_   it? Even if she's around us in the flesh... Jean is going to become a legend. Don't ask me what I mean, because I couldn't tell you to save my life. But I sense it, feel it. She's becoming something we won't be able to recognize. Not necessarily a _bad_   thing. But a _different_   thing."

John frowned. "Something that the other X-Men aren't going to become, darling?'

"Yes! No! Oh, God, John, _I_   don't know!" And Elaine Grey started weeping, and John Grey could only do what every other helpless male in history had done in similar situations--he put his arms around her, hugged her, kissed her, made reassuring sounds, and finally had the blessed sensation of hearing the weeping stop.

"John--"

"Yes, Elaine?"

"Take me upstairs. Make love to me. Now." John Grey didn't say a word. He simply picked his wife up in his arms, took her up to the bedroom, and passionately embraced her. He was fifty, Elaine was forty-seven, and it made no difference at times like these. He might not be able to perform as frequently as he used to, but he could certainly match his younger self in quality. And Elaine simply got better with age. And she had been damned good to start with. When they had finished, Elaine lay curled in his arms, and she was sobbing softly, not the weeping of earlier but a content sobbing, a happy sobbing. He kissed her hair, her neck, her ears, telling her again--he never wearied of it--how much he loved her, how fortunate he felt in finding her in his life, how _blessed_ he was. Finally, she looked right into his eyes.

"John--how important are we?"

John blinked. "What do you mean, dear?"

"I've always wondered. Joseph and Mary. Shakespeare's parents. Thomas and Mary Lincoln. The history books just give them their little hour on the stage, then they die off-page and no one ever thinks about them again. Did _they_   realize what their lives meant? How did they feel about their children, about anything? How much did _they_ matter?"

John smiled. "If you're a Catholic, Mary matters a lot." He had the satisfaction of hearing Elaine laugh.

"I wonder if theologians a thousand years from now will write learned books trying to prove that _I_ was a virgin!"

John couldn't help it; he snickered. "Only if a _lot_ gets lost in translation!" Then he sounded sober. "But darling--are you suggesting _that_   sort of fate for Jean?"

Elaine shook her head. "No, no. I don't know _what_ I mean, John. I just wonder if _we're_   going to get lost. If we can find ourselves in the midst of this."

He nodded. "I know what you mean. It's strange--I try to continue with my life here at the College. But it's no good. It _isn't_ the same. Everyone looks at me as though I'm a stranger. Even my oldest colleagues. Our mail--"

Elaine sighed. "Oh, yes. Our mail. Equal parts fan mail, hate mail, and threats. I can't say that I'm scared, but it isn't pleasant."

"No," John said. "It isn't pleasant. All I can say is, thank God for my students. _They've_   been life-savers. They accept it, Elaine. It gives me hope."

"If you have hope, dear, then I do." Elaine smiled at him. "So we soldier on?"

"As always." And he kissed her again, so long and so passionately that they were soon in each other's arms again.

* * *

Raven lay in the bed, exhausted. The demands of this Janice creature were insatiable. She found herself feeling a grudging, but real, respect for her miserable son. If he had to put up with _her_   like this all the time-- Raven shuddered inside. God help him.

Janice turned to him. "Oh, Daddy Graydon--that was _so_ good. But then, you're always good to your Janice. Always so good."

She smiled. "I try, dear. I try."

"And you succeed so admirably." Janice paused, and said: "May I ask you a question?"

"Ask away," Raven said, feeling light-headed. She was wishing she weighed a little more than she did, both for stamina's sake and to allay any suspicions this creature might have about Graydon's sudden loss of weight.

"Who are you, really?"

Raven froze. She licked her lips, made a clearing sound in her throat. "What--what do you mean? Who am I? Who am I supposed to be?"

"That's what _I_   want to know. Because you sure as hell aren't Graydon Creed."

Raven's voice came out as a croak. She cleared her throat and said: "What a curious thing to say! Do you think he has a twin brother?"

"Oh, no, I _know_   he doesn't have one of those. But he certainly _does_   have a metamorphing mutant impersonating him right now. You."

Raven laughed--heartily, she hoped. "Oh, my. Janice. Dearest. I've been playing with conspiracies so much, I'm afraid it's rubbed off on you. I can see I'll have to tone things down a little--"

"Cut the crap." Janice smiled--rather nastily, Raven thought. "Graydon weighs two hundred pounds. I'd bet _you_   don't weigh one-twenty. Graydon knows my pet name. _You_   haven't mentioned it once. And Graydon can't open his mouth without saying it to me. No, you're a morph, all right. Almost certainly a female." Janice's smile got broader. "Oh, my. Can it be--can I actually be _that_   blessed-- Am I in bed with Raven Darkholme herself?"

 _Shit._ Suddenly, on pure instinct, Raven transformed into her natural body. "You damned well are," she snarled. "How long have you known?"

A look of sheer bliss came over Janice's face. "Oh, my! I _knew_ it! I just knew it! Oh, my dear Raven, I _knew_   I'd meet you one day! It was just karma, you know, it just _had_ to be! And _here!_ In poor Graydon's bed!" Janice frowned suddenly. "Oh, my poor Graydon... If you _are_ here--that means the dear boy is somewhere else. I _do_   hope he isn't being mistreated. Is he?"

"If he is, it's no more than he deserves." Raven looked at Janice with a very unfriendly expression indeed. "What did you mean, you 'knew' you'd meet me some day? Why on earth would you think _that?_ " 

Janice giggled. "Oh, my dear Raven--haven't you guessed yet? Someone as perspicacious as _you?_ "

" 'Guessed'?" Raven said, getting angrier by the second. "Girl--quit playing games! I assure you, I'm in no mood for them!"

"With pleasure," Janice said. "I don't want to play games with _you,_ my dear Raven. Not unless we're both playing them together. After all, you're my hero."

"What?" Raven was at sea; her head was spinning. "What the hell are you talking about, you damned cow?"

"Now, now," Janice said. "I only mean that we're two of a kind." And as suddenly as that, Raven Darkholme was no longer in bed with a very nubile young blonde. Rather, she was in bed with a man. Perhaps thirty-five, thin, white-blond hair. He smiled at her. "Miss Darkholme--it is a _genuine_   pleasure to make your acquaintance."

Raven jumped out of the bed, eyes wide open, as startled as if a lion had suddenly materialized in the bed. "Who--the--fucking--hell--are-- _you?_ "

The man in the bed shrugged. "My slave name is irrelevant. I call myself the Changeling. And I'm here for the same reason you are, I imagine--to spy on dear Graydon. But you've gone me one better. Well, that's not surprising, given your reputation." The Changeling giggled. "Oh, my! Impersonating your own son! Isn't _that_ just too, too precious!"

Raven sat on the edge of the bed. The whole world was becoming a surreal phantasm. This wasn't happening; it couldn't be happening. "My son," she said, grasping onto something she could comprehend. " _You_ know he's my son?"

"Oh, of course," the man in bed said. "Graydon and I have no secrets from each other."

Raven put her hands over her face. "How on earth can you say _that?_ " she asked helplessly. The man smiled and chuckled softly.

"Well--I should say, _he_ has no secrets from _me._ "

Raven was over her initial shock. "Who sent you, anyway? Fisk? Without telling me? By God, I'll have his balls in a jar for this!"

The Changeling blinked. "Fisk? I know no one by that name. No, my dear Raven, I was sent here by Charles Xavier himself. On a secret mission for the X-Men!"

" _Xavier!_ " Raven was beyond shock. "How the hell did _that_   happen?"

"Oh, _he_ knew what a naughty boy Graydon was becoming. Not hard at all, for a man with _his_   gifts. And contacts. And we had a common friend--the most _darling_ Irishman, and _so_   butch- Sean Cassidy. Do you know him, by any chance?"

As it happened, Raven did. But she just waved a hand. "To hell with that. You're telling me that _Charles Xavier_   infiltrated you into my son's miserable little organization to be his _female_   secretary--with instructions to _fuck_   him? I wouldn't have thought Xavier capable of such subtlety."

The Changeling smiled archly. "Well, dear Charles didn't quite put it like _that._ I do believe he merely wanted me to penetrate Graydon's organization as a spy. But I was quite resourceful. I interpreted 'penetrate' broadly." He smiled. "No doubt Charles was a bit put out... But Graydon, oh, the dear boy was--is, hopefully--just _so_ butch. I really couldn't help myself, don't you know."

Raven smiled sourly. "You don't exactly disguise it, do you?"

The Changeling made an elaborate gesture with his arm. "Oh, I'm the raging queen of raging queens. And with my unique charms, well, I get _so_ many opportunities! As a man _and_   a woman! Well, I need hardly tell _you,_ my dear Raven! And after all, your dear, dear friendship with that sweet Irene--"

"Don't you _dare_   compare my love for Irene with you and your--" She couldn't even bring herself to finish her sentence. The Changeling shrugged. Raven looked at him suspiciously.

"How the hell do _you_ know about me and Irene, anyway? I don't exactly make my private life known."

"Oh, Raven, it's as I said--you _are_ my hero. I've made a special study of you." He smiled knowingly. "And I can impersonate anyone I wish--just like you. That includes Irene."

Raven was deadly quiet. "You're lying," she said. "If you ever say that again, I'll kill you."

The Changeling laughed. "Oh, I probably am," he said. "But can you be _sure,_ my dear Raven? One-hundred percent sure? Haven't _you_ ever impersonated a loved one, and been intimate with his or her partner? How often did _they_ ever suspect?"

Raven shut her eyes. The universe was spinning out of control. She had to get to an island of sanity somehow, anyhow. Stick to business. "OK," she said, opening her eyes and looking at the so-called man lying in bed next to her. "What do we do now? Do we each keep going on as 'Graydon' and 'Janice'?" She shook her head quickly. "I mean as boss and secretary. We certainly are _not_   going to keep sleeping together."

The Changeling gave an elaborate pout. "Oh, poo! You're no fun anymore!"

"I was never 'fun', little man."

"Oh, don't sell yourself short--" He blanched a bit at the look on her face. "Oh, all right. If you _insist_ on getting down to business... I have discovered little more than _you_ have about Graydon's naughty little games. The people he sees in his dismal little office are mostly cranks. When he sees Trask and people of _his_   ilk, he goes away and doesn't discuss it when he comes back. And despite what I said earlier, I fear that Graydon isn't one for pillow talk or indiscreet revelations to his mistress. I have tried, God knows. But he laughs poor darling Janice off--just an empty-headed blonde, you know. And he's taken steps to see to it that I can't eavesdrop on his private phone calls. Really! Can you imagine? It's as if he doesn't _trust_ me!" And the loathsome little man giggled slightly.

"Well, that's just dandy," Raven said. " _I'm_ not finding out much, either. What should we do, anyway?"

"Sell the whole story to Hollywood?" The Changeling suggested. "It would make a terrific Billy Wilder film."

Despite herself, Raven laughed. "Maybe when this is all over. The hell with it. Let me report to Fisk, and you to Xavier." She smiled. "Hopefully, you'll give him a _full_ report. I'd like to see his face if you do."

"Oh, I know. Charles is _such_   a good man...but he simply does not understand some things."

"No doubt." She morphed back into Graydon. "Meanwhile, 'Janice', we have work to do." She paused briefly. "By the way--what _is_ 'Janice's pet name, anyway?"

The Changeling smiled archly. "Why, Elsie, of course."


	50. Manhattan Nocturne

Chapter Fifty

* * *

It was late afternoon at the Mansion. The day's work was done, and all of them had the evening off. Hank and Maria were going into the city to have dinner and either see a movie--her preference--or take in the Yankees at the Stadium--Hank's choice. He suspected that Maria would prevail in that dispute. Then maybe some music, and home by the one o'clock curfew. A good evening. Maria would be the center of attention, and Hank delighted in seeing her as such. They could be out together, and hardly anyone would recognize _him._ Of all the X-Men he was probably the least famous, and that was a deep, deep relief.

At five, Hank and Maria drove off to the city. Maria was wearing a green dress that, as she said, didn't "accentuate" a damned thing other than her lumpy body. She didn't care.

"Henry," she said, "I have to be a woman sometimes, no matter how silly I look. You'll have to live with it."

He laughed as he drove. "Darling--you're the most beautiful woman alive. I feel blessed."

"I know you do," she said in a funny voice. "I know, Hank. You _never_ make me feel like anything less than a woman." She was silent for a second. "I dunno if I've said this outright--but..." She broke down, and Hank heard a muffled sob. "I never thought I'd have that. How could I? Hank--if I died tomorrow, I'd feel lucky. That I had everything I wanted out of life. I just want you to know that. And that you did that for me."

He stopped the car and took her hand. "Maria-- _I'm_ the one who's been blessed. No one--not even Scott--is as lucky as I am." She smiled, and they continued on.

They ate in a place near Times Square, an Italian restaurant which had the best lasagna Hank had ever tasted. The sensation Maria made on her entrance couldn't have been bettered by royalty. And indeed, Maria looked like royalty to Hank. She was tall, regal, and totally _herself._ The buzz that accompanied their entrance continued while they were seated and as they read the menu and ordered. After a few minutes, a child at a near-by table came over. "Miss Gianelli...?" he asked, and Maria smiled at him.

"Yes, honey?"

"I just wanted to say that we all love you. Don't think anyone pays any attention to those stupid TV ads."

Hank thought Maria would break down, but she mastered herself, bit her lip, and nodded at the boy. "Thanks, dear. I'm very happy to hear that. What's your name?"

"Paul, Miss Gianelli. Paul Luzzini."

"Well, Paul--and I'm 'Maria', by the way--I'm very, very pleased to know you." And she asked how he was doing in school, and how many brothers and sisters he had, and in a few minutes the boy was talking to her like she was his best friend, eyes bright, voluble, his face lit up. Then his parents came over, apologized for his taking up her time, and she laughed and said how much she enjoyed it. Then they left, Maria waving goodbye and telling him to do well in school, and she'd talk to him again someday. Hank looked at her with admiration when they were alone again.

"Maria--I'd rather undress in Macy's window, than do what you just did."

She laughed. "Oh, Hank--! You underestimate yourself. Once you get that shyness out of your system--and hang around _me_ long enough, it'll happen--I guarantee you'll be making me look like a recluse. You have a natural talent with people. We just have to unleash it upon an unsuspecting world."

Hank shivered. "That's easy for _you_   to say."

Dinner was indeed delicious, and afterwards they walked out into Times Square hand-in-hand. Dusk was turning into night, and they felt the city around them, and they laughed because they were young and in love and because everyone they passed gaped at them, and they loved that, and they laughed because so many people called out good wishes to them both and they laughed because an occasional passer-by turned their heads away in disgust, and they laughed because it was a cool, clear evening and the lights of Times Square were coming on and enchanting them. They laughed for these reasons, and many others, and they walked and walked and walked and they didn't care about a movie or a baseball game, they just walked east to the river then west to the other river, then through the Park and not giving a damn about muggers. There in the Park was some live jazz being played to a crowd surrounding a stage, and they stood on the fringe of the crowd in the dark so that they wouldn't be a distraction, and they listened to their concert and after awhile Hank took Maria in his arms and they danced together to a quiet tune, and they kissed when it was over and looked in each other's eyes, and Hank was entranced all over again by those hazel eyes.

And then they walked over into the west Eighties, and as they did so they heard the far-off cry of "help!", and they ran to the sound and saw a woman being accosted by three armed muggers. Maria looked at Hank.

"You or me?" she asked.

"Me, fair maiden," Hank said, and Maria nodded.

"I'm here for back-up if you need it." And she walked behind Hank as he approached the mugging, and the muggers turned to him with their switchblades and cursed him and told him to bleep off, and he just shrugged and in a moment there were three unconscious muggers on the pavement, and a very frazzled but grateful victim who, when she saw Maria and realized who Hank was, seemed almost more nervous than she had been with the muggers. But she kept her composure, and didn't act disrespectful in any way, and Hank and Maria moved on, and the victim moved on, and they left the muggers there in the street, the lady not wanting to "get involved" even though she had been the victim. And Hank and Maria accepted it, this night they accepted everything that came, and they walked in the city until after midnight and got home at just the stroke of one o'clock, and neither of them could ever remember having a better night in their lives.

* * *

Jean came down to breakfast still yawning a bit. She had been a little short of sleep since her relationship with Scott had blossomed. No complaints, she told herself happily. No, indeed. But she _was_ yawning a little now and again...

There was dead silence at the breakfast table. She was the last to arrive--yes: she had overslept by ten minutes. They were all carefully _not_ looking at her. Especially Scott. But it wasn't a serious silence. No, they were trying not to laugh. And why was there a newspaper at her place--?

She walked over, and took a look. It was a copy of _The National Enquirer._ With a huge headline: "Jean to dump Scott; declares love for Prince Charles". And, indeed, there was a photo on the cover, superimposing her with a picture of the jug-eared seventeen-year old who was heir to the throne of England. She looked around the table quickly, but the others were too fast for her, turning their eyes away before she caught them. Except, of course, for one... Maria smiled at Jean bashfully.

"Your Highness. I presume we call you that now. Will you need a lady-in-waiting?"

She stared at the rest of the team. This was not promising. Even the Professor was having trouble keeping a straight face. Carla entered the dining room carrying a platter of scrambled eggs, and after putting it down turned to Jean and said:

"Well, if it isn't Her Majesty. Don't forget us little folk, OK, girl?" And went back to the kitchen without a backward glance. As if Jean weren't capable of retaliating. Which she did, immediately. She took the first page of the paper, telekinetically scrunched it up into a spitball, and tossed it hard at Maria.

"Off with her head!" Jean cried out in what she hoped was an imperious tone of voice. Maria dodged the spitball and laughed.

"It's already going to her head!" Maria cried. The others agreed, as Jean kept creating missiles and flew them at Warren, Bobby, Hank. Scott she saved for last, feeling sure he deserved pride of place. For _him,_ she created three spitballs and threw them one after the other so quickly he couldn't avoid them. He put his hands up in surrender, and Jean finally relented.

"Professor--I'm not sure I shouldn't bless _you_ with a little present," she said in a mock-stern voice. "I'll bet you're the ring-leader of this conspiracy."

The others enthusiastically agreed with this assessment, while the Professor smiled. "Guilty, your Majesty," he said lightly. "We couldn't have you getting airs, now, could we, Jean?"

"I guess not, sir," she said with a laugh, sitting down for breakfast. "Needless to say, His Royal Highness is safe from my evil designs."

Bobby frowned. "That's funny. I mean, _wasn't_ there a Queen of England once named Jean Grey?"

"Actually," Hank answered, "that was _Jane_   Grey. Lady Jane Grey. She was only Queen for nine days, and some authorities don't actually regard her as a legitimate Queen at all. It was a complicated situation--" There was a collective groan, and several of the spitballs found themselves being hurled in Hank's general direction. Jean turned to Scott.

" _You_ haven't had much to say about this."

He shrugged. "It's my quiet confidence. I don't have to fret or strut."

"You're doing very well at this quietness," she said with just a bit of an edge. "You mean, you weren't jealous at _all_   when you saw that headline?"

"Of a kid with ears like _that?_ " Scott said. "I don't think so."

She sighed ostentatiously. "Oh, Scott," she said in a mock falsetto, "you do know me _so_ well." The table laughed, and they ate the rest of the meal in relative calm. Then there was work--study, Danger Room sessions for them all, individually and as a team. The team session went very well. They faced robot versions of The Hulk and Sub-Mariner, who had once teamed up and for all anyone knew, would again some day. Jean spun the Sub-Mariner robot around with her TK, after which Scott knocked the fight out of him with an optic blast. Meanwhile, Maria was wrestling with the Hulk robot. She Shifted to her diamond form, and Bobby aided her with some strategically-placed ice balls, and the Hulk robot went down, too. The Professor praised their performance.

"Needless to say, if this had been the _real_   Hulk and Sub-Mariner, it would not have been so easy. But your tactics and use of your powers were _very_   well-conceived and imaginatively executed. Well done, my X-Men."

"Thank you, sir," Jean said, and they all nodded. On their way out, the Professor asked if Jean would come to his study. Jean, frowning, did so.

He invited her to sit down. Jean, sweating a little from the Danger Room, was curious. The Professor paused, then started to speak.

"Jean--you've asked my forgiveness about that episode with the Stranger. When you told me that you were wiser than I was about it."

She flinched. "Sir--I feel _so_ foolish over that moment--"

But the Professor put his hand up and shook his head. "No, no, Jean. Please. I don't hold it against you at all. I just wanted to say that in the sheer chaos of that moment, none of us knew what we were doing. Whatever the Stranger did to us, especially to Maria, well--" He pursed his lips. "I cannot explain why I was unable to read your mind at that moment. Somehow, the Stranger must have blocked my ability to do so. His powers are ultimately inexplicable to us. You don't remember _anything_   about that moment?"

She felt uneasy. She didn't like thinking about it, and the Professor could see she didn't like it. But she answered as best she could. "Sir--I can only say that The Stranger--whoever--whatever-it _must_   have been him--anyway, I received some sort of message. Or warning. Or something. I feel sure that The Stranger thinks I have some importance. As a result of that, _I_ am beginning to wonder myself. And that's all I can really tell you."

The Professor sighed. "That is enough. Jean--there's something I must tell you. I've kept this from you, but you need to know now. You have more potential--unrealized potential--than any of the X-Men. Even more than Bobby, and he too has barely begun to tap _his._ The others--Hank, Warren, Scott--while their power will grow and their mastery of it shall grow as well, still we know more-or-less _what_ their powers are and what they can do. Maria--" The Professor sighed. "She is an anomaly. I still don't even know what the questions are for her. Much less have any answers. But in your case, Jean, at least I thought I knew the questions. Now, after the Stranger, I'm not so sure."

"What do you mean by potential, sir?" Jean asked. "You mean my telepathy, which has been suppressed?"

The Professor sighed. "Basically, Jean, yes. You are an immensely powerful psi, at least potentially. But it's more than that. There's a point in which a change in quantity becomes a change in _quality._ And that is what has always concerned me, Jean. I believe that your full potential will take you to some level, frankly, beyond anyone else. Even me. It is why I have deliberately _not_ tried to nurture your psi abilities, at least at this time. Because I'm afraid for you." He shook his head. "I know this is almost on the verge of being an insult. It is certainly patronizing and over-protective. But the incident with the Stranger makes me wonder. It makes me wonder very much." He looked sharply at her. "Forget for the moment the appropriateness, or lack of it, of your telling me that you are 'wiser' than I, regarding that moment. Can you remember what you _meant,_ Jean? Can you remember anything at all about _that?_ "

Jean shook her head helplessly. "Professor--I have no idea! _Something_ happened. And it vanished like a dream. I can't say anything more."

The Professor looked unhappy. "Jean--I'm going to request something very difficult of you. I am aware of that. You have every right to refuse, and I shall not think any the less of you. But would you permit me to enter deep into your mind, to see if I can find any context for that remark? I would not be asking you this, if I didn't feel it was of supreme importance."

Jean's heart beat against her sternum like it wanted to be let out. The idea panicked her. But she couldn't permit the Professor to know, to even suspect, this. Because if he did, then he'd know how uneasy _she_ was about it. But if she let him do this, he'd know anyway... To hell with it. She had always trusted him. She would continue to do so.

"Sir--I am at your disposal."

He smiled very wanly. "I'm glad, girl. More than I can say... Relax. Just sit there, and let me in. I shan't be hurting you. Or going anywhere I shouldn't be. I'm going to focus." And Jean Grey shut her eyes and leaned back in the chair, and she felt the tentacles of the strongest psychic on the planet entering her mind and they were gentle tentacles, grabbing onto her psyche with a feather touch, but nonetheless going deep. She felt tense, but also at peace, that peacefulness one felt when getting a massage or a hair-cut or a medical examination--the sense of someone being there, helping, doing something that you knew was good for you, that was necessary and right. She sensed the Professor diving into her mental depths, exploring her memories and then her psychic drives and then her inchoate images and gut feelings right from her Id. And she felt, too, his lack of success, the moving around of her psychic baggage without discovering anything new. Then, slowly, she felt him withdraw. Finally she opened her eyes after hearing him sigh.

"No good, Jean. Whatever is in there is buried too deep for me to discover. But I sense that there _is_   something... Well, it is beyond my ability to ferret out, and that's all there is to it. I could do no more without risking your mental balance--or even your sanity itself. Needless to say, _that_   is not an option."

"No, sir." She felt compelled to be totally honest with the Professor. "Sir--I have to confess. I'm _glad_   you failed. I didn't want you to find anything. Could that have had an effect on the results of your psychic probe?"

The Professor smiled slightly. "My dear Jean--I felt that reluctance on your part, the hope I would fail, on the outer-most level of your mind. I got around that with ease. Believe me, _that_   was not an issue at all."

Jean sighed. "Of course not, sir." She looked at him. "Does that end the matter, then?"

"It does, Jean," the Professor said with a sigh. "I see nowhere else to go. We'll have to await developments--if there _are_   any developments. And thank you for your patience."

Jean nodded, and went up to her room for a quick nap. Her head ached from the Professor's probe, and she was nervous, upset, for reasons she couldn't explain. _Guess I'm just queasy about the coronation,_ she thought to herself before she nodded off.

* * *

Emma Frost could barely contain herself when admitted to Wilson Fisk's office. As always, she was surprised by the office's relative lack of luxury. Fisk was not one to care for frills. Emma didn't know whether or not she admired this, being fond of "frills" herself.

"Well?" Fisk said shortly after she entered. "You look like you can't wait to tell me something."

Emma sat down, crossed her legs, and gave Fisk the biggest and broadest smile she could imagine. "I've found out something, Mr Fisk."

"About Raven?"

"Oh, yes," Emma said with a laugh. "Indeed about Raven." Fisk's insistence that Emma psychically spy on _his_   spy in Graydon Creed's camp seemed almost logical to Emma, in the nightmare spy-vs-spy world she had gotten herself immersed in. James Bond was all good fun on the movie screen, but in real life--! Well, she wished she could just go back to old-fashioned sex and dominance games. The Hellfire Club never looked so good to her.

"Well?" Fisk said with a hint of impatience.

"Well, indeed," Emma said. "Raven impersonates Graydon, who has been taken away to somewhere awful by his father, the psychotic Sabertooth. And lo and behold, Raven inherits Graydon's horny secretary, Janice. Whom Graydon has been screwing enthusiastically. As a result, _Raven,_ to defuse suspicion, has been screwing her enthusiastically as well. Following me so far, Mr Fisk?"

"With crystal clarity," Fisk said. Emma nodded.

"Quite so. Now the plot thickens. Because you see, Janice isn't Janice."

"What do you mean?" Fisk said, frowning. "Are you playing some kind of game with me, Miss Frost? Because if so--"

Emma laughed. "Oh, Mr Fisk! A game of sorts is certainly being played, but not by _me._ Oh, no. Janice, Mr Fisk, is in reality another metamorph mutant. A _male._ And as queer as J Edgar Hoover. So _he,_ as a woman, has been screwing dear Raven, as a man."

Fisk didn't make any response for a full minute. And waiting a full minute, Emma thought as it was passing, was a very uncomfortable experience. Finally, Fisk said simply: "Who?"

"Who? As in, who is he? Or who, as in who sent him?"

"Both. Neither. Anything."

Emma laughed. "Oh, my dear Mr Fisk--! He is named simply the Changeling. And he has a very extensive clientele indeed, as a man and a woman, _from_   men and women. It's amazing what some people will pay, to be with the person of their dreams. And the Changeling is more than willing to oblige. For ten thousand dollars an hour."

Fisk almost choked. " _Ten thousand dollars_   an hour? And he finds people willing to pay this sum?"

"Lots of them," Emma said. "Some of the names would make your eyes pop. If you like, I could give you a complete list. I don't know, of course, if you're into blackmail--"

Fisk scowled. "Miss Frost, I am into _everything._ I shall expect that list before you leave this building."

Emma nodded. "Certainly, Mr Fisk. In any event, the Changeling's own inclinations are very much to the swishy side. Extravagantly so. But he'll do whatever it takes to earn his money, and there have been very few complaints. Some of it...well, really, Mr Fisk, I'm a broad-minded girl and all that, but still--!"

Fisk grunted. "Your natural modesty and delicacy are duly noted, Miss Frost. Now--who sent him into Creed's headquarters?"

"Oh, this is _too_   rich, Mr Fisk. Just too rich for words... Charles Xavier."

Fisk looked shocked. "The _X-Men?_ "

"Indeed. They, too, are nervous about the Sentinels--and really, Mr Fisk, you can hardly blame them. So you and Xavier have been working at cross-purposes."

Fisk did not look happy. "That is unacceptable, Miss Frost. Wasted effort is wasted money. We shall have to coordinate our efforts. Somehow."

Emma shrugged. "Well, really, Mr Fisk, that's _your_   business, not mine. I'm just a poor working girl. You're the mastermind."

Fisk grunted. "On the whole, Miss Frost, you _do_   remember that. That is to your credit. But this..." He studied his hands. "Somehow, Raven and this Changeling creature will have to work together. And Xavier and I will have to come to some sort of understanding. The stakes are too high for anything else."

"Well, Mr Fisk, Xavier is known as being a straight-arrow. And you have--well, you _do_   have a reputation. I'm not sure he'd cooperate with you."

Emma shuddered, because Fisk was smiling at her. "Maybe not. But he _would_   cooperate with a fellow mutant. You."

" _Me?_ " Emma said, her voice almost a squeak. "What do you mean? You want me to go join those goody-two shoes adolescents? When hell freezes over, I assure you, Mr Fisk--"

But she stopped, because Fisk frowned and shook his head. "No, Miss Frost," he said in a very quiet voice that chilled Emma to the bone. "No, I do _not_   want you to join the X-Men. But if I _did -_ -" And his voice got quieter yet, and Emma Frost in that moment was more frightened than she had ever been in her entire life  "--if I did, you would. And you would do it without complaint."

"Yes, Mr Fisk," she said in a small voice.

"No, dear Emma," Fisk said, and his voice was almost jovial now. "No, I merely wish you to go to Xavier's and tell him the truth--that you are a mutant, a bit too old and independent to become one of his students, and that you are a member of the Hellfire Club. And that Graydon Creed is working with the Club to finance Trask. Tell him that your mental tracking of Creed has revealed that one of his employees--you need not go into more detail than that--is another mutant known as the Changeling, and that he's there at his--Xavier's--behest. Ask what the Changeling's role is, what his job is, and what you, Emma Frost, can do to help. I need clarity before I can make any plans. I need to know what everyone else's plans and goals are. Then, perhaps, we can make the next move with confidence."

"Do I tell Xavier about Raven?"

"Certainly not. Tell him nothing you don't have to."

"But he may know anyway. The Changeling might tell him."

" _Has_ the Changeling told him, Miss Frost? You're reading his damned mind, after all."

Emma shrugged. "He hasn't decided yet."

"Then don't tell Xavier anything he doesn't need to know."

* * *

A certain figure looked around its home. The room with the machines and computers was on its right, as it faced the front door. On its left was a conventional living room. Here, in the spacious front hall, were tables arrayed with photographs. Framed photos, with people, events, places, strewn everywhere. The figure walked to one of the tables. It picked up a photo, in a small frame. It showed a deserted and broken down mansion--Xavier's Mansion, in fact. In the foreground was a grave. On it were the words: "Jean Grey-Summers. She will rise again." The picture was dated October, 2008. Next to it was another picture. It showed a stunningly beautiful woman of about sixty, maybe a bit more. She had long gray hair piled down over her shoulders, bright green eyes, wore a green costume with a stylized bird emblazoned on it, and a knowing smile for the camera--a look that seemed to say that the Universe was her private joke, and the fact that she was here smiling into the camera was the greatest joke of all. She, too, was standing in front of Xavier's Mansion--indeed, precisely where the grave was in the other photo. But in this picture the Mansion was intact, indeed sparkling. A beautiful woman with red hair, younger and shorter than the other, was standing by the gray-haired woman, looking into her eyes. The picture had the legend: "Jean and Rachel Summers, The Mansion, October, 2008."

The figure picked up the photo of the two women, and kissed it. _This is reality. Nothing else. This sustains me. You two sustain me._ It picked up another picture. This showed the five original X-Men, in their graduation garb, caps on their heads, but wearing their X-Men uniforms. Charles Xavier was in the center of the picture. A legend read: "X-Men. Graduation. July 14, 1964." Another picture next to it showed the same five young people, and one other, all a little older, wearing the costumes Jean Grey had made for them after the defeat of Factor Three. This legend read: "X-Men. New costumes. November 3, 1967." Maria Gianelli was with them, wearing a blue-and-white costume.

The figure looked at one more picture. It showed the "new" X-Men, arrayed around the Professor. Scott, face grim but posture relaxed. Phoenix was next to him, wearing the green costume. Staring into the camera, with something of the same look that Jean had in her 2008 photo, but less knowing. _She did not know as much then. She never truly knew as much as the Primal Jean did._ And Peter, Kurt, Sean, Ororo, Logan. The legend read: "X-Men, September 22, 1977." _Just after the M'Kraan Crystal. And before their abduction by Mesmero. Such a key moment. If only things had happened in a different way-- Well, they didn't, and that's all there is to it._

The figure went out the front door, drank in the mountain air. _I am beginning to feel that my whole mission has been in vain. It is too much for me. And if that is so, then it is too much for anybody. But nothing is certain yet. I can only do my best, and wait for whatever happens to happen. But I do know that my original estimates were way off. The crisis is coming_ _now_ _. Not years from now. Jean will enter the Crystal in this reality_ _this_ _year--1965. Well, that is beyond my power to change. Hah! Was that a joke? If so, it isn't very funny. It makes it all the more important that I be ready._

The figure entered the house, went to the room with the machines. It had work to do.


	51. The X-Men Receive a Visitor

Chapter Fifty-one

* * *

"Get him, Angel!" Scott's voice carried over Riverside Drive to Warren, who was tracking the flying super-criminal known as the Beetle over the Upper West Side. The X-Men had been in New York to appear at a fund drive at a midtown hospital, and on their way out the call had come through about the Beetle robbing a jewelry store in the mid-Nineties. They had arrived on the scene just too late to get hold of their quarry, but Warren, flying up high well over the skyline, saw the Beetle frantically moving towards the Hudson. Warren caught up to him with contemptuous ease, and engaged their foe while the others followed. He was cautious with the older man--the Beetle's armor made him more than a physical match for Warren. But the X-Man flew so quickly, and so deftly, around the Beetle that the latter was flying in circles. By the time he got himself squared away, the rest of the X-Men had arrived. Iceman threw an ice jacket around the Beetle, who managed to crack it with an effort and started to fly away again. That was when Scott had issued his order to Warren.

Maria looked up, ready to intercept the Beetle when Warren had gotten him back down to earth a little. Suddenly, the Beetle had a problem gaining altitude. Maria looked at Jean, and saw her friend smiling grimly as she snared The Beetle in a telekinetic net. Hank jumped up onto the Beetle's back and with a few blows immobilized the Beetle's power-pack. Helpless, he flew in ever-narrowing circles to the street. When he landed he lay there, prone, and Maria walked up to him and smiled.

"Hi there, Mr Beetle," she said. "You don't want to fight anymore, do you?" The beaten man just lay there, motionless. Finally he looked up at Maria, took off his helmet, and laughed bitterly.

"I wasn't expecting the #&^%$ X-Men," he said wearily. "The Torch, Spider-Man, one of the lone guys, yeah. But not the whole lot of you damned freaks."

"Is _that_   any way to speak to someone who has your fate in her hands?" Maria said cheerfully, bringing the Beetle to his feet. The others walked over, and the Beetle shrugged helplessly.

"OK, you got me. Now what do you do with me, anyway?"

"There's never a cop around when you need one," Warren said heartily. Then a voice broke in--a deep voice, used to command.

" _We'll_   take him off your hands, X-Men. With our thanks." They looked, and saw Captain America and the Avengers walking up. This was interesting. Maria--the whole world--had been stunned by the sudden resignation from the Avengers of Iron Man, Thor, Giant-Man, and the Wasp. Their replacements--Hawkeye the Marksman, his partner and lover, and former Soviet spy, the Black Widow, and Spider-Man's old enemy the Sandman--came up on Cap's heels. The shockwaves from all this hadn't begun to settle yet. The heroes--out! The crooks--in! Already, the press had dubbed them "Cap's Kooky Quartet". The Professor had told the X-Men that the Avengers had come close to disbanding altogether, when these three old adversaries came forward to offer their services, on a promise of reform. The Avengers--and the National Security Agency--had agreed, and the Avengers had been saved. But their sudden descent from strongest super-team, to weakest, had been a vertiginous shift in the super-hero balance of power. Were _they-_ -the X-Men--the strongest team now? Maria would have bet money on it.

"You're welcome to him, Captain," Scott said solemnly. Maria wondered briefly if she should ask Cap for his autograph, then decided against it. She was a professional now, she reminded herself sternly. Act cool. Captain America smiled at Scott.

"Good work." He turned to Maria. "Miss Gianelli?"

Maria's heart skipped a beat. "Yes, sir?" she asked meekly.

" 'Cap' will do fine," he said with a smile. "Miss--I just wanted to say how much I admire you, the work you do with kids. You've put the light into a lot of young lives, Miss Gianelli. I, for one, appreciate it."

Maria hemmed and hawed and generally tried not to act as if her feet were six inches off the ground, while both teams laughed good-naturedly. Hawkeye shrugged.

"Kid--you've gotten the Cap treatment. There's no known cure."

Jean smiled at Captain America. "I suppose we'll see you at Reed and Sue's wedding?"

Cap smiled back. "We wouldn't miss it for the world, Miss Grey. It's good to see you, X-Men. Again--good work." And the Avengers left with their helpless, but oddly cheerful captive. Scott looked his team over.

"That _was_   good work, guys," he said. "We worked _as_ a team." He turned to Maria. "Hope you didn't mind basically sitting this one out, Maria."

"Hell, no," Maria said. "You guys have to carry your weight once in awhile, you know." This pearl of wisdom was met with a chorus of Bronx cheers, which Maria took in the spirit of a prophet without honor in her own country. Meanwhile, the inevitable army of children had descended upon the X-Men like locusts, most of whom congregated around Maria. The others waved and headed off, leaving her to entertain her peanut gallery. Which she did with great enthusiasm, not leaving until every kid there had gotten a few words and an autograph, if requested.

* * *

Wanda sighed. The latest hide-out wasn't an improvement over Staten Island, but she accepted what she couldn't change. A loft over an abandoned warehouse in Brooklyn. The Manhattan skyline soared to their west. But surrounding them were old warehouses, burned out storefronts, the creeping tentacles of slums encroaching on the neighborhood. A depressing place, which she hoped wouldn't be their home for long. Pietro walked into the corner of the loft where Wanda was sitting, trying--and failing--to concentrate on a book.

"You don't like it here, my sister?" he asked, brows raised.

"I'm just restless, Pietro," she said. "Ever since the Stranger, we have done nothing. It's been long since we had any clear purpose. Once we served Magneto because of gratitude, for saving our lives. Somewhere along the line, Pietro, I have come to believe that he has a destiny, a shimmering goal that is worthy of support. But I do wish he would enlighten us more as to what that goal is."

Her brother laughed softly. "Indeed, Wanda. But I know what you mean. Magneto has changed since we joined him. He is less callous, less insensitive. Not less domineering or demanding. But still, a changed man." He frowned. "Suppose that alien _had_   taken him--and the Toad. What do you suppose we should have done, anyway?"

Wanda shrugged. "Who knows, Pietro. Joined the X-Men, perhaps? That would seem to be the logical step."

He frowned ever more, shook his head. "I do not think so, my sister. I cannot quite see us fitting into _their_ world." He picked up a paper. "These new Avengers--! Maybe we would have fit in with _them._ "

Wanda laughed. "What an idea! Two mutants joining the Avengers! Oh, we and Captain America would make just a _wonderful_   fit, wouldn't we, Pietro?"

Her brother laughed. "Well, sister, when you put it like _that_..."

Wanda smiled. "Where is Magneto now, Pietro?"

"Where do you think, Wanda? With Wyngarde. Trying to restore him. I shall give him _that._ He has worked tirelessly to bring Mastermind back to us."

Wanda looked thoughtful. "He surprised me, Pietro. Wyngarde, I mean. Towards the end, I feel he really _was_ almost a gentleman. He certainly worked loyally for Magneto. _That_ was not always the case when we first joined, as I hardly need remind you."

Pietro laughed. "No, indeed. But somehow, Wanda, despite everything, we have become a team. A real team. I wonder if Magneto wanted this, or if it has taken even _him_ by surprise?"

Wanda rose. "I cannot say, Pietro. I wish to speak to Magneto." Her brother shrugged and vanished in an instant. Wanda knew he could make a survey of all five boroughs and return in the time it took her to speak with Magneto. She found their leader, indeed, in a laboratory, the solid block of mass that had been Jason Wyngarde on a slab. He looked frustrated.

"How are things progressing, Magneto?" she asked. He scowled at her, then relaxed and smiled in apology.

"Frankly, Wanda, not well. I haven't been able to figure out even in the slightest just what the Stranger did to poor Wyngarde here. And if I can't figure out what he _did,_ then I can't figure out what my course of action should be."

She looked at Wyngarde, frozen in a moment of time, and realized--somewhat to her surprise--that she felt sympathy for him. "Why not consult experts, Magneto? Reed Richards. Henry Pym. Men who know more about biology than you do."

He frowned. "Because they _are_   men, Wanda. And we are mutants. How would it look, if we went hat-in-hand to humans, asking for aid?"

Wanda almost--but not quite--asked Magneto if Wyngarde's well-being wasn't more important than their prestige. "Then what about Charles Xavier, Magneto? He _asked_   us to keep him in mind if we needed help. It appears that we do. Why not go to him?"

Magneto didn't respond for a moment. "Wanda--I have decided to do that very thing. It wounds my pride, but Charles might be able to help. I am not going to let Mastermind stay in this purgatory any longer than necessary, if the X-Men can aid us."

"I am very happy to hear you say this, Magneto."

He looked sharply at her. "Oh? Why do you say that, Wanda?"

"Because I thought Wyngarde was a changed man at the end. In the beginning, I was afraid of everything and everyone. The Toad, Mastermind. Above all, you. Those fears have abated these past months. I find that I want Wyngarde to be well."

Magneto almost, not quite, smiled. " _I_ do not frighten you anymore, Wanda?"

"No, Magneto, you do not."

"Have I become so much less fearsome?"

"Perhaps. Yes. But that is not the real reason, Magneto."

He frowned. "Oh? And what _is_   the real reason, Wanda?"

She smiled at him. "Because I have come to the realization that I need fear no one, Magneto."

They looked at each other for some time. Finally, Magneto smiled--a smile of genuine warmth. "Wanda--that's the best thing you could have said. I do believe you have grown up."

She nodded. "I think so too, Magneto. And don't forget it." She turned and left the laboratory, feeling Magneto's stare burning a hole in her back as she went.

* * *

Charles Xavier was looking out of his study window at the big front yard that rolled down towards Graymalkins Lane. There blessedly didn't appear to be demonstrators out there today. In fact, this was the case now more often than not. People could get used to anything--even the X-Men in their midst. The initial shock had died down, everyone had had their say, and for better or worse, they had become a "normal" part of people's lives, part of the world of discourse and celebrity. He himself was now a celebrity, he supposed. He had been interviewed on TV, his name and face appeared on the front pages of newspapers and magazines, he had his own sacks of mail. Much of that was heart-rending. People desperately asking for his aid--with autistic children, people in comas, people with mental disorders of every conceivable stripe. Many of these people he couldn't help. But many, to be honest, he _could._ There simply wasn't enough time to help everyone. Therefore, with very few exceptions, he helped no one. Every letter was answered, as honestly as possible. And every one cut him just a little more to the bone.

The doorbell rang. He sighed. They had posted a sign out at the street, explaining that the School was not open to the public and that they did not have the time or facilities for visitors. This discouraged most would-be guests. They did no more than this, however. Charles was determined not to padlock the School and the grounds. He did not want to feel he was in a prison or high-security facility. Fred Duncan reasonably said that the School _was_ a high-security facility. Perhaps Charles would agree with this assessment in time, if the situation warranted. For now, he wanted at least the illusion that they weren't hidden away from the world.

Jean appeared at his study door. "Professor--someone wishes to see you. I believe you should see her."

Charles came to with a start. He had never seen Jean in this mood before. She seemed tense, almost aggressively hostile. Was there something wrong--? "Oh, Jean? Why do you say that?"

She scowled, and his curiosity grew. "You'd best let _her_   explain, sir."

Oh, my. What could have set Jean Grey off like this? He nodded numbly. "Very well, Jean. Send my guest in." Jean left, swivelling on her heels grimly. He thought he heard her grunt in disgust. What on earth was going on?

A moment later, Jean returned with a young woman in her mid-twenties, very blond, with a rather bold face and stark blue eyes. Charles stiffened. This young woman was a mutant. _That_   was obvious at once. She smiled at him, as if she realized what he was thinking. She was dressed in what Charles supposed was a fashionable skirt, a full three inches above the knee. Charles nodded.

"Please have a seat, Miss--?"

"Frost," the young woman said. "Emma Frost." She sat down across from his desk, crossed her legs, and took out a cigarette. "You don't mind?" she asked Charles, who merely shrugged. Jean stood there like a statue, and Charles realized that she was acting for all the world just like a cat or dog whose territory has been invaded by a strange member of their own species. He almost _saw_ Jean's fur flying, her back arch, a hiss coming from her throat. Charles was secretly a bit amused. Jean--behaving in such a way! He was almost glad to see she could react in such a "human" manner. For Miss Frost and Jean, it appeared, it was dislike at first sight. Miss Frost took a puff of her cigarette, and smiled at Jean.

"So this is the famous Miss Grey! Dear--your pictures simply do _not_   do you justice. You are such a beauty--well, I have no words."

"I should imagine _that_   is an unusual experience for you, Miss Frost," Jean said in the iciest tone imaginable. Miss Frost smiled amusedly.

"Please, dear--Emma. Make it Emma. Is that all right for you--Jean?"

"Certainly. _Dear._ " And Jean turned on her heel and left the study. Emma laughed a silvery laugh.

"What a sweet girl. I do believe I have aroused a wee bit of feminine rivalry in our All-American Mutant, Professor. Or would you prefer Charles? It _would_ make things easier."

"Charles would be acceptable."

Emma took a drag of her cigarette. "Excellent, Charles, excellent." Then to his surprise, she spoke to him telepathically. _Let us not waste time, Charles. I am a telepath. You know nothing of me because I have taken great care that you should not. I am a member of the Hellfire Club. Do you know of it?_

He made no reaction to her boldness. _Only by reputation, Emma. I did not know that any mutants were members._

_As I said--we have taken great pains that you should not. Or that Magneto should not, for that matter. We are not interested in your mutant wars. Our concerns were--and are--domination and power. Over humans, mutants, aliens, devils, angels, creatures from the Black Lagoon, you name it. Our mutations are a means towards that goal, not an end in themselves._

Charles blinked, a gesture more emphatic than a shrug would be with a human. _Very well. What of it?_

_Things are happening that concern us all. You know to what I refer. Trask. And the Sentinels. We are forced to get involved in the games of mutant and human against our will._

Another blink. _How did you learn of them?_

_Does it matter? How did_ _you_ _, my dear Charles, if it comes to that? I_ _am_ _a telepath. I learn things._

_Go on._

_The Changeling. Graydon Creed. I have had my eye on Creed for some time. He bankrolls Trask--and the Club. Some of whom are involved with Trask. Watching Creed is a simple matter of self-preservation. He has a new secretary._ Charles could hear Emma laughing to herself as she said this. _A woman. Janice. She and Creed have become_ _very_ _close. One guess who Janice is._

Charles winced. He had hoped the Changeling would have resisted that particular temptation. He knew very well the sort of man he was dealing with. He used him, though, because Banshee had recommended him, and because he, Charles Xavier, had been impressed with him when they met, almost despite himself. _Yes, Emma, I infiltrated the Changeling into Creed's organization. How he did so was up to his initiative. For better or worse, he has managed to get close to Creed. But I must tell you, he has been able to learn very little. Have you done better at the Club?_

There was a pause. Charles could tell that Emma was considering this question very carefully. Finally: _Not really. I hesitated just now because there are cross-currents going on that don't affect the over-all situation. I can tell you that Edward Buckman--the head of the Hellfire Club--is close to both Trask and Creed. But we do not know yet whether he is trying to throw us mutants in the Club to the wolves or not._ For the briefest of moments, Charles saw something in Emma's mind-- She was lying. Buckman _had_   decided to "throw the mutants to the wolves", as she put it, and she knew it. He hesitated-- No. Emma did not notice his getting through her defenses. Thank God. He knew something then that she didn't know he knew--that she was lying about this. Why would she want to, however?

Charles realized the answer almost immediately. Emma's loyalty wasn't to her fellow mutants in the Club; it was to someone, something, quite different. Charles had to suppress knowledge of this. He couldn't hesitate in his replies, give her time to wonder about _him._ _Very well. Let us assume that this Buckman_ _is_ _your enemy. What do you intend to do? Why are you here?_

Emma shrugged her shoulders--an elaborate gesture for a telepath. _We simply wish to know what you do, my dear Charles. For our mutual protection. That surely makes sense, doesn't it?_

Charles hesitated. It did make sense. But Emma Frost's concerns weren't completely with her fellow mutants. What did he feel obligated to say to this young woman, anyway? _I have infiltrated the Changeling into Creed's organization, Emma. So far, Creed has been very cagey. He has let--well, 'Janice'--know nothing about his plans concerning Trask and the Sentinels. Janice is continuing his--her--efforts. That is all I can say, Emma. I have information from other sources, but they have been given to me under a promise of confidentiality._

Emma made an impatient gesture with her fingers. _Of course, Charles. Of course._ She shook her head. _You_ _will_ _contact me, via the Club, if you hear of some imminent danger--whatever the source? I shan't ask you for the name of the source. Just what they say, if it threatens us._

_That sounds eminently reasonable, Emma. Of course._

Emma rose. _Very well then, Charles. I appreciate your time. Thank you, and it was an honor to meet you. And that dear Grey child. Make sure to give her my best wishes. No, no--I'll see myself out._ Charles looked out the front door, and saw the elegant form of Emma Frost striding down the front walk towards Graymalkins Lane. He thought hard to himself for some moments.

 _Jean,_ he called out to the girl telepathically. _Please report to my study._ Jean appeared a minute later, her face a blank mask. Charles smiled slightly.

"I take it you do not approve of our Miss Frost, Jean?'

"I think the word 'bitch' was invented just for her, sir."

Charles blinked. "Indeed. Jean--I do not believe I have ever heard you speak so of anyone before."

"That, sir, is because I've never met anyone like her before."

Charles nodded. "That makes sense, as far as it goes. Jean. Forget your feelings for her. Be objective. What kind of person would you say she is?"

Jean frowned slightly. "Professor--I'd say she's exceptionally smart. Smarter than me, I concede that--and I'm far from dumb. I'd say that she's basically disloyal to people around her. No, I'm not being catty. I mean just what I said. She wouldn't turn on someone out of sheer malice, though God knows she's capable of _that._ But she knows what side of her bread is buttered. She would betray anyone, if she felt her safety was threatened. But she would be honest about it. She would never lie to _herself._ "

Charles pursed his lips. "I see she made quite an impression on you, Jean."

"She did, sir."

"Go on."

"As long as she _is_   loyal to someone, she would be invaluable to them. If she were cornered, she would fight with intense ferocity. She is sexually promiscuous to an extreme degree. She enjoys games, as long as she gets to set the rules. She is essentially a cold-blooded woman. She gets into emotional situations, but has never really been in love. I feel very sorry for her."

Charles laughed. "That was not the impression I had earlier, Jean."

"That was pure animal instinct, sir. On reflection, I _do_   feel sorry for her."

Charles looked thoughtfully at his student. "You really sense all this about Emma, Jean?'

Jean nodded. "I do, sir. And I trust my instincts about her. I think you should, too."

He nodded. "Thank you, Jean. I believe I do. That is all." Jean left the study, and Charles Xavier sat there, thinking very hard.


	52. Encounter in Space

Chapter Fifty-two

* * *

Maria was in the library, trying to make sense of Wittgenstein. She had a good foundation for him--a thorough knowledge of _Principia Mathematica_ \--and various other writings of Russell, Whitehead, and the Math Boys, as she privately called them. But Ludwig-- She sighed. Maybe it was the translation. Still, he was downright coherent compared to Hegel. The memory of her encounter with _him_   still made her shudder.

Suddenly Bobby appeared in the doorway. "Hey, Maria--get down to the Bio Lab. You're not gonna _believe_ what's happening there." Maria, intrigued, got to her feet and trudged behind Bobby to the sub-basement level where the Biological Laboratory complex was. She entered--and stopped dead.

There, arrayed in front of her, was the Professor. And her fellow X-Men. And--taking pride of place near the center of the lab--Magneto and his whole Brotherhood. Including, she saw with a pang of dismay, the block of solid matter that was all that was left of Mastermind. The Professor looked up as she and Bobby walked in.

"Ah, excellent," he said. "We have everyone here. Maria, Robert--the Brotherhood has asked us to try to help in the revival of the unfortunate Jason Wyngarde here. Naturally, I have accepted to the best of my ability. So far, that hasn't been all that much."

Maria walked over to Mastermind. "Professor--is he _thinking?_   Have you been able to establish mental contact with him at all?"

The Professor sighed. "Naturally, that is the first thing I tried to do. But he is _not_ 'thinking', Maria. Indeed, I detect no brain activity at all. His mind seems as frozen as the rest of him."

Jean frowned. "Forgive me if this is an indelicate question, sir--but are you sure that he _is_   alive, at all?"

Magneto stirred uneasily, and Maria saw that this question had occurred to him, too. The Professor looked grim. "I believe he is, Jean. I have to. I do not believe that the Stranger would simply kill him. And if he was dead, too, his body would have decayed. There is no evidence that such is the case."

But something the Professor had said was resonating inside Maria. _Frozen._ Could it be--?

"Sir?" she asked almost shyly.

Professor Xavier turned to her. "Yes, Maria? You have a suggestion?"

"Yes, sir. This _isn't_   like cryogenics, is it? I mean, he isn't frozen like he was on ice, or anything like that?"

Magneto looked startled, and shot Maria a look of respect. The Professor looked as if he had been slapped across the face. "No, Maria, it most certainly is _not_ as if he has been cryogenically frozen. It is not like that at all."

"By God," Magneto said almost to himself. "Is it possible, Charles? Could it be _that_   simple?"

Hank looked startled, too. "Professor! It might work!"

" _What_   might work?" Bobby said, puzzled. Jean and Warren were also frowning. Scott, though, had a light of comprehension dawning on his face. As, Maria noted with interest, did Wanda.

"Maria has noticed something very interesting, Robert," the Professor said. "Mastermind is _not_   frozen in any cryogenic sense. Rather, his whole system is shut down internally. From the inside out, rather than from the outside in, as he would be were he cryogenically frozen."

Bobby nodded. "OK, sir. I get that, as far as it goes. So what?"

"So," the Professor said carefully, "if he _is_   frozen, so to speak, from the inside out--perhaps an internal 'heating' so to speak, would revive him. It would have to be done carefully, and it would almost certainly take time..."

Magneto nodded. "Yes, Charles, of course. I can adjust his internal blood flow in any way you think fit."

The Professor nodded. "Yes, Eric. We can begin right now. Start-- _slowly_ \--to increase the iron in his blood. I know that his blood is not circulating, that in his current form he doesn't even have 'blood' at all. But in this solid state, he has _something_   where his blood used to be. See if you can have any effect on that at all, Eric. Meanwhile, I shall continue monitoring his brain functioning, to see if this changes in the slightest as we proceed."

Wanda smiled slightly. "Professor Xavier--I believe that _I_ ,  too, might be of help when the time comes. If you need some odds reduced in your favor, I think I could be invaluable."

Professor Xavier looked thoughtful. "An excellent suggestion, Wanda. By all means, stay available. Hank, perhaps it would be helpful if you remained as well. But the rest of you, I think, can be excused for now."

Maria didn't need a hammer to hit her over the head. She left the lab, with Warren, Jean, Bobby, Scott, Pietro, and the Toad. The latter looked around him very uneasily. He didn't seem to understand why the Brotherhood had to be here in the lair of what he still seemed to consider the enemy. Pietro, though, seemed relaxed and even jovial.

"So, Miss Gianelli," he said with a smile. "It appears that you just might have found a solution of sorts."

Maria shrugged. "I just had a notion, that's all. _They're_ doing all the work."

"Do not dismiss the power of ideas." He laughed. "You seem to have a good effect on my--father." The others laughed, too, and Maria would have blushed if she could have.

"Hey--I was young and irresponsible. What did I know?"

Jean came over and took Maria's arm. "Now, of course, she's a grown-up. _Totally_ responsible." Maria laughed, and the others joined in. Warren looked dubious.

"All _I_   know is, we were all innocent and naive before Maria came to corrupt us." He turned to Scott. "Cyke-- _weren't_   we innocent and naive?"

Scott looked at Jean for a second. "Absurdly naive and disgustingly innocent."

Pietro considered this. "Well, _we_   were being hunted by mobs in our native Scandia. And being chased by Doom's robots in neighboring Latveria. Magneto saved our lives. We felt we owed him a debt."

Jean looked seriously at him. "And now, Pietro? Is that debt paid?"

He pursed his lips. "I think so, Miss Grey--"

"--Jean."

"Jean." He took her hand and kissed it. "Of course. Yes, I believe our debt to Magneto is paid. We remain--for now--out of a feeling of loyalty, a fact that surprises us. It has slowly grown up over the past few months. The name 'Brotherhood' is no longer a bad joke."

"Does Wanda feel the same way?" Maria asked with interest. Pietro shrugged slightly.

"Not long ago, I would have said that Wanda would feel the same way _I_ did. I might even have gone so far as to suggest that she would feel the way I told her to feel. Now, though--?" He looked thoughtful. "Wanda has left fear behind. And unquestioning obedience to me. Perhaps the absurd freedom you American women have has corrupted her."

"Perhaps," Jean said with a smile. They waited for a time, sometimes talking, sometimes keeping a silence that Maria, at least, felt comfortable with. Finally, Hank summoned them back into the lab.

Maria looked at Mastermind. He was breathing! "How did you do it?" she asked Hank, who was looking very pleased with the world in general.

" 'Twas simplicity itself," he said in a relaxed tone. "Magneto slowly but surely got his blood circulating. The Professor began noticing brain activity. And Wanda cast a probability spell that worked. Wyngarde's heart started beating again. It will take time, but he is going to be, well, human again."

"I'm glad," Maria said. Magneto came over to her.

"Again, Miss Gianelli, we owe you our thanks."

"Hey, I'd have done it for any stranger." She pulled a face. "Ouch. You know what I mean."

"I do, and you are wrong. You may have done it for any--stranger. But you did it for us. And for that, I am in your debt."

She shrugged. "I was just glad to have an idea that helped, Magneto. Really."

The Professor smiled at her. "Excellent, Maria. _Very_ well done."

"Before I get callouses from being patted on the back, might I point out, sir, that I didn't actually _do_   anything? You and Magneto and Wanda did all the work."

"Point duly noted," the Professor said jovially. The Brotherhood departed, with the now-breathing Mastermind, soon after. The Professor looked proudly at his students.

"This has been a good day, my X-Men. A _very_   good day. We have established a bridge now to the Brotherhood that will not be easy to expunge. Hank, Maria--a very good day's work, both of you. Maria--might I see you in private for a moment?"

The others left, and Maria gulped. Had she done something to screw up, without realizing it? But the Professor smiled as soon as they were alone.

"My dear--I do not want you to show any modesty right now, false or otherwise. This was _your_ idea. This was _your_ triumph. Eric has come to feel a real respect for you. This is something I frankly was not anticipating. It is a tribute to your qualities of mind and heart. Your compassion for a man whom you might have had every reason to regard as an enemy."

Maria smiled. "Gosh, sir, I'm just so goldarned terrific. It's nice to know."

"Young lady, you are whatever I _tell_ you you are."

Maria laughed. "Yes, sir. Whatever you say."

"Maria, I cannot begin to tell you how much you have progressed since you first came here--and it's approaching a full year." He paused. "Maria--I have _not_   forgotten about, well, about 'Anna'. It is like Scott and his optic beams. I have not forgotten about either of you. I swear, someday you will be able to be Anna whenever you wish. You can have the normal life--and love--with Hank that you deserve. A family and children, if that is what you want--and I can tell, very easily, that you do. Please, my dear, do not give up hope."

Maria tried--and mostly succeeded--in not crying. "Sir--I've already had so much... If it happens, great. I'll take it. But don't feel that I _need_   it. I don't."

Charles Xavier took the girl's hand. "I know you don't, Maria Gianelli. But you shall have it, nevertheless. I shall never quit trying to achieve it for you."

"Yes, sir." And Maria went up to her room, and this time did cry for a long time. Tears of joy.

* * *

Major Christopher Summers pointed his blaster at one of the Badoon slavers, and cut the creature down before he could call for help. Excellent. The Starjammers still had the element of surprise. Ch'od, to his right, encountered another slaver, but didn't bother to pull _his_   blaster. No, the giant reptoid simply used his hands to dispose of his prey. Christopher winced. The creature was just as dead as his man was, but felt it more. He was still squeamish enough to think it mattered.

Over on his left, Raza--using _his_ blaster, thankfully--cut down two of his own. Their blasters were on silent mode, so they hadn't been heard in the main Badoon compound yet. Where was Hepzibah--? Yes. She was behind Raza, claws out, tail swirling. God help any Badoon _she_ encountered. "Raza!" Christopher called out quietly.

"Aye, Corsair?"

"It's time to make our presence known in an unambiguous way."

Raza grinned, twirled his moustache exactly like a silent-movie villain. "I agree, Corsair. Let these accursed slavers know thy wrath. I am with thee."

Even though Corsair knew Raza was "with him", hearing him say it always inspired him. Hepzibah merely nodded grimly. He turned to Ch'od. "It's time to make a big noise, Ch'od." The largest of the Starjammers smiled eagerly.

"About time, too, Christopher!"

"On three," Corsair said. "One--two-- _Three!_ " All four of the Starjammers blasted holes in the gates of the slaver compound, and rushed through. Badoon slavers rushed out of their huts like ants, and the blasters of the Starjammers cut them down almost as they emerged. The prisoners were in the main compound, in the middle of the camp. There were about two hundred of them, all members of the gentle Askar'ian race. Pacifists. Lovers of culture and art. And thus, all the more attractive prey for the Badoon, who enjoyed nothing more than destroying innocence and gentleness for the sheer sake of doing so. The Starjammers had no client in this caper, nothing more than their visceral hatred of slavery guiding them forward. It was enough.

Some of the Badoon threw down their weapons and surrendered. He saw Hepzibah corral them together, and hoped she wouldn't give in to her instincts. All of them had reservations--to say the least--about Corsair's Earth-based notions of fair play. He couldn't trust any of them with prisoners, when it came right down to it. Oh well--get the job done, and worry about that later...

Some of the Askar'i, realizing that they were being rescued, rushed out of their encampment to greet their liberators. Glad as he was to see them free, they _had_   gotten between the Starjammers and the Badoon slavers, and the Badoon had no compunctions about gunning them down if they got in the line of fire. One of the Askar'i seemed to realize this, because he started to herd his people--old, young, male, female--behind some of the huts. As they did so, The Badoon, recognizing the Starjammers, began panicking and either threw their weapons down or ran for the wilderness beyond the compound. A few of the worst of them, knowing that they could expect no mercy, gathered themselves together for desperate final battle. Corsair groaned to himself. This was likely to get sticky. The die-hards opened fire, and one of the Askar'i who had been tardy in reaching cover was cut down. That was enough for Christopher. No more!

"Starjammers!" he called out. "Let's end this! Cut them to pieces!" In a few minutes, it was all over. The die-hards were either dead or fled. The prisoners, he was relieved to see, were all alive, but a few had clawmarks on them courtesy of Hepzibah. The Askar'i cautiously peeked their heads out. They were a tall, thin race, light blue or green in color. The leader approached Christopher.

"Is it true--you _are_ the Starjammers?" he asked with quiet awe in his voice.

"We are," Christopher said.

The Askar'i bowed, taking Corsair's hand. "Bless you," he said. "Slavery is worse than death to us. The Badoon--" He shivered. Corsair was almost, but not quite, ready to ask why they were all such pacifists if slavery was so damned evil to them. No point. In his experience, pacifist races were so mostly because of genetic factors. It wasn't a matter of "blame". Meanwhile, Raza, Ch'od, and Hepzibah came over, having the look of satisfaction that only confounding slavers could give them.

Soon, the Starjammers were back in space. The Askar'i had been taken in hand by troops from the Rim Alliance, who would shepherd the ex-slaves back home. With the thanks of the Alliance Captain, the Starjammers went on their merry way. At first Corsair thought that there had been no profit from the adventure, until he saw Raza carefully examining some very beautiful jewels "liberated" from the Badoon slavers.

"Booty?" he asked Raza. "I'm a little surprised. In this backwater hole?"

Raza smiled grimly. " 'twere well, Corsair, that even little holes such as this have great gifts here and there. If one knows how to look, that is." Hepzibah laughed, and Ch'od nodded with all of his pretensions of worldly wisdom. Corsair smiled as their ship warped towards the central population centers of the Galaxy. Christopher felt that some time on a pleasure world might be of help to all of them. The Starjammers had been driven for too long. Slavers, Imperial aggression--both Shi'ar, Kree, and Skrull--local wars and revolutions... Corsair sighed. It added up. And despite their growing reputation, they were small in number and could do only so much.

"Uhh--Corsair?" Christopher awoke with a start; he had dozed off. "Yes, Waldo?" he said to the ship's sentient computer.

"We're being hailed." Corsair immediately went to the viewscreen, and indeed, there was a small dot on the electronic grid, getting larger as they approached it. "I wonder who that could be," he said slowly. Ch'od snickered.

"There's a very simple way of finding out, Christopher. Answer their hail. Or is that too simple for a subtle Earthman such as yourself?'

Corsair laughed. "Subtle? I thought we Earthers were too simple and naive for a full understanding of complex Galactic civilizations."

"Whoever said _that?_ " Ch'od asked solemnly.

"I was under the impression that _you_   had," Corsair said almost jovially. But he did turn on the intercom. A voice was saying: "--'Buelami' to Starjammers. 'Buelami' to Starjammers. Please respond. Urgent."

" 'Buelami'?" Hepzibah said, her fur bristling. "That's a Shi'ar name!" And indeed, the ship, when magnified, was of definite Shi'ar make. Corsair frowned. One small passenger ship would be no threat to them. Still--Shi'ar? This couldn't bode well. He turned on his communicator.

"'Starjammers to 'Buelami'. State the nature of your business."

"Yes, Starjammers. I wish to beam onto your ship to discuss something of paramount importance. I am unarmed. This is a parley. I wish to emphasize-- _paramount_   importance."

"No!" Hepzibah said adamantly. "No Shi'ar can be trusted! Armed or no, this is a trick!"

Ch'od looked thoughtful. "Christopher--maybe so. Even if it _is_   a trick, I am curious as to what it might be. Let him come aboard."

Raza shrugged. " 'Tis your decision, Corsair. I deem there is naught to fear. I, for one, however, shall be ready with fire if it should be needed."

Corsair smiled. "Well, that's always reassuring, Raza... To hell with it. We didn't become the Starjammers by being the cautious types." He talked into the communicator. "Beam aboard."

A moment later, an energy vortex shimmered on the bridge of the Starjammers's ship, and a figure appeared. It had on a helmet of Shi'ar Imperial design. It approached Corsair, and removed the helmet. He stiffened, and Hepzibah next to him hissed. He thought for a second she was going to disembowel the newcomer before a word could be spoken. He then thought that _he_   would. But somehow, they restrained themselves as Princess Lilandra of the Shi'ar Royal Family stood before them.

Christopher Summers looked at her, and she looked at him. "Thank you for receiving me, Corsair," she said quietly. He finally smiled.

"Do you wish a bow, your Highness? Or possibly a curtsy from Hepzibah, here? I fear you shall be disappointed either way."

Lilandra's voice and posture did not change. "If you wish an apology for the actions of my brother, Corsair, I will be glad to provide one. For all the good it will do."

"An apology," Corsair said cautiously. "For the actions of the Emperor D'Ken. _That_ would certainly be an interesting moment, your Highness. The word we would use on my world would be 'surreal'."

Lilandra moved now, making a shrug of impatience. "What _do_ you want, Christopher Summers? I am here. On your bridge. In the heart of enemy territory. Are you not curious at all as to _why_ I am here?"

Raza walked up to Corsair. "I deem we should listen to this Princess, Corsair," he said. "Can do us no harm to listen. There is something fell here, if I mistake not my senses."

Corsair sighed. "Very well, your Highness. Yes--it _is_   odd, to have a member of Impy royalty here on the bridge of my ship. Are you by any chance defecting from the Shi'ar Empire? Is this some civil war you've lost?"

Lilandra shook her head. "No, Corsair. Nothing as melodramatic as that. But I wish it _was_ so, because it would be less alarming than the truth. That is what I am here to tell you. I am to reveal a state secret that very few realize. If D'Ken knew I was here, talking about it, my life would be forfeit. But talk of it I must."

"Hmmm. OK, Princess, you have my attention. What is this secret? And why us?"

"The latter question is easily answered," she said. "You have no stake in Shi'ar politics. You are a thorn in our sides--for good reason, perchance. But you are also thorns in the sides of the Kree and the Skrull, and other races and groups who violate what you regard as standards of justice. You have your own independent position, and you have no axes to grind. Everyone trusts you--which is another way of saying that everyone distrusts you. Ultimately, the two things are one and the same. And you have connections. You might be able to do something. And, Corsair, I tell you--something needs to be done. Badly."

"All right." He looked at the others--Ch'od, Raza, Hepzibah. They had a serious look on their faces. Any instinctive distrust of Lilandra because of who she was was in abeyance for now. "Tell us about it, your Highness."

"It is simply said. The Universe has lost about a tenth of a second."

Christopher frowned. "What do you mean, 'lost'? Where has it gone?"

"That is what we want to know. What everyone who knows of this wants to know. For a tenth of a second, the entire Universe--vanished. Was somewhere else. Or nowhere else. Like it disappeared into a black hole, and emerged."

"Vanished?" Corsair said. "You mean, it wasn't here?"

"Exactly. Did you notice this, by the way? Feel that you personally had lost this amount of time?"

Corsair thought. "No, your Highness, I can't say I have noticed. Would anyone, given how short the interval was?"

"That's what _we_ are asking ourselves. I did not. D'Ken did not. My sister did not. A tenth of a second? You would merely assume you had had a slight mental glitch. Or that your thoughts were 'a million parsecs away'. So far, there is no evidence that this incident has caused any concern--or even been noticed."

"That how do you know it happened?"

Lilandra smiled. "Because there is a place where time is absolute. Where it can be calibrated to an infinite part of a second. And is. The Guardians of this place have informed us of what happened. And believe me, a tenth of a second is no different, scientifically, from a billion years going missing. It is no less significant."

"Where _is_ this place?"

"It is called the M'Kraan Crystal. There, time is absolute and all realities coalesce. The Crystal is a Platonically perfect entity. It is the Guardian of Time. There, above all other places, reality is Absolute. A discrepancy of a tenth of a second means, quite simply, that time itself is in danger of total disintegration. The physics are very clear. _Any_   discrepancy at the Crystal is a threat to the entire Universe."

Corsair nodded. "I have heard rumors of this Crystal. I thought they were old wives' tales. But apparently they are not. Very well, your Highness. I accept that there is a crisis. But what do you want _us_   to do?"

"For now, all I ask is that you take me along on your ship. And that we travel to the world of the Crystal. We must see for ourselves. And we must consult with the Guardians. And if things are as they appear--we must get some help. Somehow. Anyhow. I trust you to do this, as I said, because you are respected by all and beholden to none. You could act--and we need action. Even if D'Ken were other than who he is, were he someone whom I could trust, the Imperial wheels would move slowly. We don't need that. We need _you._ "

Christopher looked at the others. "Well?" he said. "You all up to some Universe-saving?"

Ch'od laughed. Hepzibah shrugged disgustedly. Raza, face thoughtful, nodded. Corsair turned to Lilandra.

"There's your answer, your Highness. How long will it take us to get there?"

"A couple of weeks, perhaps a little more," she said. "I dare not trust to a stargate. It would be noticed. We must go the old-fashioned way." She paused. "That is another reason why I need _you,_ Corsair. Since my departure from Imperial Center, the _Beulami_ is certainly being looked for. But you, as far as I know, are not."

"Fine," Christopher Summers said. "Welcome aboard. The sooner we start, the sooner we'll get there."


	53. The Supreme Intelligence Speaks

Chapter Fifty-three

* * *

Ronan the Accuser walked slowly into the chamber containing the Supreme Intelligence of the Kree. He had been here for audiences many times; the fact itself did not intimidate him. But this was different. Something was happening. Something he didn't understand. Admittedly, the Supremor knew things no other Kree did. He was a law unto himself. But this sense of total ignorance disturbed Ronan. It made him feel a little _too_   much like a mere functionary. That this was exactly what the Supremor thought of him was an idea he didn't like contemplating.

The technicians bowed to Ronan, and left the chamber. He awaited the Supremor's pleasure. This came within a few minutes, as the face Ronan knew so well manifested itself upon the viewscreen. The Supremor was silent for a minute, then did something that shocked Ronan: he chuckled. Ronan's face showed the astonishment he felt.

"Supremor?" he asked, almost tentatively. The Supremor's electronically-generated face showed amusement, as the chuckling sound gradually died down.

"Greetings, O Accuser," the Supreme Intelligence said in a jovial voice. Ronan bowed deeply.

"Supremor. I await your pleasure."

"Oh, do stand up straight, Ronan," the Supremor said, and Ronan did so. He was feeling very uneasy. He had never seen the Supremor in this sort of mood before, and wondered what it portented. " 'Pleasure'," the Supremor said thoughtfully. "That is an interesting choice of words, Accuser. _Do_ you think I get any pleasure out of life?"

Ronan's mouth opened stupidly. He gaped at the Supremor. "Sir, I--I do not know."

The Supremor laughed. "Oh, Ronan-- Poor man. You _are_ confused, are you not? Well, perhaps I can make things easier for you. Here is a simple question. Have you ever heard of the planet Earth, of the star Sol, in the Sirius sector of the Milky Way?"

Ronan considered this. "No, Supremor," he finally said, hoping it wasn't the wrong response.

"No, I don't suppose you have," the Supremor said. "It is only one planet amongst thousands, after all. We have a Sentry there, and we have genetically modified some of the inhabitants to help their evolution along its merry way. But of course, this too is common for thousands of worlds, both in and out of the Empire proper. You would agree?"

"Yes, sir," Ronan said, totally bewildered.

"Indeed. Now, here is where it gets interesting. The Stranger visited Earth in the very recent past. You _have_   heard of the Stranger, Ronan?"

Ronan was astonished, and didn't try to hide the fact. "Of course, Supremor." Indeed, the Stranger had been something of a thorn in the side of the Kree for many, many years. He would interfere in _their_ evolutionary experiments. But the competition was generally peaceful, and he hadn't trod on too many Imperial toes.

"Umm hmm. And do you know what he found out on his sojourn to this 'Earth', Ronan?"

"No, sir."

"I'll tell you. He discovered that the Phoenix Force has adopted a mortal to use for an Avatar."

" _WHAT?_ " Ronan could never remember being more startled in his entire life. This was news of-- He couldn't think of any analogy for it. The Supremor laughed again.

"Oh, I quite agree with you, my dear Accuser. It seems that this 'Earth' has some importance, does it not?"

"You mean an Earthman is the Avatar?'

"An Earthwoman, to be exact. To be even more exact--an Earth _mutant._ After all, why was our friend the Stranger there, anyway? To examine _their_ mutants. Well, he got a lot more than he bargained for."

Ronan was thinking very fast, indeed. "My God," he finally said. "Supremor--the importance of this--it cannot be overstated. I'm not even sure it can be _stated_   at all."

"Very good, Ronan. You are aware that we--the Kree--have reached an evolutionary dead-end."

Ronan flushed. "I regard that as a libelous slander upon our race, sir. I am frankly astonished to hear you repeat it, and I am well aware of the risk I take in speaking to you in such a manner."

The Supreme Intelligence chuckled again. "Very good, Accuser. Very good indeed. Your patriotism does you credit. Alas, though, the 'slander' is quite true. We _have_   reached an evolutionary dead-end. As have the miserable Skrulls." There was a pause. "You may take my word for it."

Ronan looked down, overwhelmed for a moment by bitterness and shame. "As you say, Supremor."

"Well, _this_   is what I say. Again, Ronan, I say--it is true enough. And I say also--this race of Earthmen and women are our superiors. Of both of us, Kree and Skrull. The future belongs to _them._ "

Ronan nodded. "I see," he said almost to himself. "That is, unless we take action. Is that what this meeting is about, Supremor? Do you want me to mount a punitive expedition to this Earth, and nip the problem in the bud?"

" _NO!_ " the Supremor said, in a voice that Ronan thought would tear the room, the whole planet, to shreds. "My dear Ronan--do you wish to invoke the wrath of the Phoenix against us?"

Ronan shuddered slightly. "No, Supremor."

"No, indeed. I should prefer a visit by Galactus. But Accuser--this is one reason why I say these humans--the name of the race of Earthmen--are our superiors. The superiors of _everybody._ The very fact that the Phoenix has chosen an Earthwoman as its Avatar--that comes close to being a definition of 'supremacy', all by itself."

Ronan said nothing, for the good and sufficient reason that there was nothing to say. The Supremor had just said it all.

"But there is more news," The Supremor said. "The Starjammers have had a visitor to their ship. The Princess Lilandra herself." Ronan acted as though he had been stung by an insect. A member of Shi'ar royalty, visiting--perhaps making common cause--with the accursed Starjammers!

"This would be a strange development, sir," he said reluctantly. "After all, the Starjammers are a thorn in _our_   sides. But they are a gaping wound in the sides of the damned Shi'ar. What would Lilandra want with them?" _And how the hell do_ _you_ _know all this, anyway?_ Ronan thought to himself, but knew better than to ask. The Supreme Intelligence's sources of information were unmatched in the entire Universe.

"She intends to take them to the world at the end of space. The world of the M'Kraan Crystal. _That_   is what she wants with the Starjammers, Accuser."

Ronan contemplated this, then bowed his head. "God help us."

"Oh, I quite agree, my dear Ronan. I am wondering if anyone else _can._ "

Ronan dared to look at the electronic face of the Supremor. "Do you know what she wants to do there, sir?"

"Oh, I suspect that it has something to do with the fact that Time seems to be unravelling, Ronan."

"Sir?" Ronan didn't dare to say anything else.

"You heard me. A fraction of a second is missing from existence. No one is quite sure how, or why, this happened. Thus--the Crystal."

Ronan nodded. "Yes, sir. Of course. Time is absolute _there._ If some time _is,_ well, missing the answer could be found there." He frowned. "And of course, the Crystal is in Shi'ar space. Lilandra would be the natural one to go there to explore the matter. But--" He seemed startled. "The Starjammers. By God--D'Ken is _not_   behind this expedition, is he? This is Lilandra going rogue, is it not?"

"It is, Ronan, and it's very discerning of you to realize it. Indeed. D'Ken is still immersed in his mistresses and random cruelties. His ministers are 'studying' the situation. Lilandra is acting. With the one group of individuals who can help the most. But that isn't the biggest part of the jest, Ronan. Not at all. Do you know what is?"

"What, sir?" Rona said, hardly daring to breathe.

"The leader of the Starjammers, this Corsair--you have heard of him?"

"I have, of course. Everyone has."

"As you say--everyone has. Did you know, Accuser, that this Corsair is an Earthman?"

Ronan stood there like a statue. He could not have moved, spoken, had his life depended upon it. "No, sir," he finally said in a whisper.

"No. And furthermore--his son, on Earth, is the lover of the Phoenix Avatar. What do you think of _that,_ Ronan?"

"I am past thinking, Supremor."

"I don't blame you, Ronan. And that is why, by the way, I _am_ taking my pleasure. This is the best game I have played in millenia. We are going to have fun, you and I."

"We are, sir?"

"We certainly are. I am assigning you to Earth, Accuser. You are to find out all you can about this Avatar. Her lover. Earth's mutants. Be discreet. This is _not_ a prelude to conquest. Just a fact-finding mission. I need more information."

Ronan had finally had enough. He left discretion behind. "Oh, sir? And why is that? You seem to know everything already."

Chuckles ran over the Supremor's electronically-generated face. "Oh, Ronan--! You don't know how long I've been waiting for you to question my methods. Very good! And to answer your question--I have many facts. But I need more. I need _contexts._ I need to learn what these Earthmen--and women-- _feel._ I need to know _why_   the Phoenix chose _this_ woman, _this_   mutant, on _this_   planet. What makes _them_ so special? That is why I am sending you there." He paused. "And by the way--I am not sending you alone. We need someone there you can rely on, someone who can pass for one of them--as _you_ can hardly do, my dear Accuser! Your companion is entering the Chamber as we speak." Ronan looked towards the door, startled. There was a Kree--a Pink!--in the green-and-white uniform of a Captain in the Kree navy. His hair was white, but nonetheless he was a young man. He bowed to the Supremor, then turned and bowed to Ronan.

"Sir," he said to Ronan. "My name is Marr-vell, Captain in the Kree Navy. I exist to serve you, and the Supremor." Ronan turned to the Supreme Intelligence, who was still chuckling.

"Marr-vell is a resourceful young officer, Ronan," he said. "Very resourceful indeed. You shall find him extremely useful in your mission."

The Accuser bowed. To hell with it. Everything was crazy anyway. What was one Pink Navy man, compared to that? "As you will it, Supremor."

* * *

Candy Sothern tapped her foot impatiently. She felt impatient about everything these days. Graduation was a mere two weeks away. Then out of this damned female hive, and out into the world! She intended to have some _fun_   this summer, before going to Vassar. She shuddered involuntarily. Vassar. Just down the river from Bard College. The home of-- She shuddered again. Was that _too_ nclose?

She was standing in front of the Student Center of her exclusive school. The other girls knew only that she had a heavy date, and there was much catty comment on who the "unlucky victim" was. Candy had not enlightened them. They'd know soon enough. And indeed, there came into sight a Lincoln Continental. With a blond young God at the wheel. A young God sprouting a pair of wings.

Candy waved, as Warren pulled up in front of the Center. As she approached him, and he got out and they exchanged a hug, the Center's doors opened up and a mass exodus of young ladies piled out onto the sidewalk.

"It's really _him?_ "

"Oh--my--God--!"

"724-9815! 724-9815! _Please,_ please remember it--!"

"Candy, you bitch--!"

"Anytime--anyplace--anything--"

All this, and more, rained down on Warren as he opened the door for Candy. A few keys were thrown his way, which he was gallant enough to ignore. Then a pair of panties was thrown at him, and Candy said under her breath: "Warren, let's get the hell _out_   of here!" He smiled, and the Lincoln pulled away, to the groans of the girls and a few curses thrown at Candy's head. They headed east, towards Suffolk County and the unspoiled part of Long Island. Soon they were speeding along, the Sound on their left, and Candy was able to breathe.

"Nice to see you," Warren said easily. Candy pouted.

"Likewise. Not that I've forgiven you, you understand."

"Of course." They cruised another mile or so, then stopped at a small hot dog stand. They ate a couple of dogs apiece and drank some Coke, and then walked along the sandy beach. Candy was looking for shells, and finding very few. Warren's eyebrow's rose.

"Why shells?" he asked. "This is new, isn't it?"

"I'm exploring my creative side," she said. "I'm making some necklaces of shells. I'm thinking of making one of them a strangling necklace." And she gave him a significant look.

Warren sighed. "Candy--I've explained before that I _couldn't_   tell you. We were all sworn to secrecy."

Candy sighed. Yes, yes, yes. The old story. The fact that it was sensible and prudent made it all the worse. She took him by the arm and they headed for the water.

"Are you happy, Warren?" she asked. "That you're public now? Is this what you really want?"

He seemed to think about this. "Yes," he finally said. "Yes, Candy, I'm happy about it. I am what I am. The world can take me for that."

She snickered. "Those adolescents back at the school--! _They_ certainly take you as you are. Shameless hussies, all of them."

Warren shrugged. "Oh, I suppose it's exciting to see a celebrity close-up."

"Exciting! If you had remained there, there would have been a riot. They would have all thrown their clothes off. That might have gotten us talked about. And right before graduation, too."

"Well, we couldn't have had _that._ "

"No, indeed." She stopped, and took his face in her hands. "Warren. Is Jean out of your system?"

He looked pensive, and Candy wondered briefly if she had asked the wrong thing. "No," he finally said. "No, not really. She'll _never_   be entirely out of my system, Candy. I can't lie to you about it. But I accept. She belongs to Scott. I'm not even really jealous. Not if you saw them together. She _belongs_ with him."

Candy laughed. "Like Arthur and Guinevere?" And Warren laughed, too.

"Yeah, you might say so."

"You were right about calling her 'legendary'," Candy said. "The world certainly seems to agree."

"Oh, that just embarrasses her, all that stuff."

"Rubbish. You're falling for it, Warren. All men fall for it. No woman _really_   dislikes that sort of attention. Take my word for it."

Warren smiled. "And how about Maria?" he asked. "Does _she_ like the attention _she's_   gotten?"

Candy shrugged. "I said _women,_ Warren."

"She qualifies, Candy. Believe me, she does."

Candy considered this. "If you say so, lover." She turned to Warren, and impulsively kissed him. He didn't respond for a second, then took her in his arms and they embraced for a long while. Then they parted, and Candy found herself blushing.

"I'm sorry, Warren. No, really. I had no right to do that."

"Do you hear me complaining?"

"It just makes me like one of those crazed harpies back at the school. Or like one of your correspondents!" She looked at him. "My God--! Is _that_   as dreadful as all the rumors one hears? Your letters?"

"I plead the Fifth."

Candy laughed lightly. "Warren--I feel like I'm taking advantage of you if I so much as hold your hand. I'm crazy about you, just head-over-heels. The fact that you turn out to have wings is just a sort of icing on the cake. I mean, yum, and all that. You don't hear _me_   complaining. But I was like that before I knew about you. I don't know if that makes it better or worse."

"Better," Warren said. "Lots better, Candy, believe me." They reached a dune, and walked around behind. Warren helped Candy to sit down. They were alone, with no one else in sight. "Candy--when you've received the mail _I_ have--both the quality and quantity--having someone who was crazy about you _before_   means everything. Believe me."

Candy's heart began to beat. Very hard. "I can see that, neighbor. I'm safe and sane and don't have demands on you."

Warren laughed. "Don't you?"

"God, yes. Warren, I'm the world's worst liar. Demands? All I want is your arms around me. Your damned wings tickling me. I want _you_ to know that someone cares for you _as_ you. Cares absolutely. No legends. No ballads. No doomed romances beyond time. Just me. Everything I can give. Hoping that will be enough."

Warren was silent for a long time, and she finally realized--to her total astonishment--that he was crying. Just a little.

"Hey!" she said, kissing him on the cheek. "Hey! Hey now! None of that! How did _that_   happen?"

"Because you're so terrific," Warren said huskily. "Candy--I love you. I've been an idiot not to know before. You're who I need. _You're_   who I want. I don't want a legend. I want someone real. Jean will always be a fever in my blood. But nothing more. I accept that. But Candy--if _you_ can accept _that,_ be there for me. Please."

"Oh, you jerk! Always!" And Candy kissed him, and they embraced behind the dune, and didn't come up for air for some time.

* * *

Jason Wyngarde blinked. _Where the hell am I?_   He looked around the room he was in. It was a small niche in a larger enclave, walled off by curtains. What had happened to him, anyway? The Stranger...he had done something to him. Then _he_   had--what? What had happened? He couldn't even remember dreams... "Where am I?" he called out, his voice sounding weak.

"Master!" he heard the Toad call out in the background. "Master! Wyngarde! He's awake!" There was a scurry outside his nook, and the curtains opened. Magneto walked up to Wyngarde, and he saw the Toad, Quicksilver, and the Scarlet Witch behind him, looking on curiously.

"Wyngarde!" Magneto said heartily. "Well, well! How are you feeling?"

"To be honest, esteemed leader, I'm not quite sure," Wyngarde said. He started to rise, then thought better of it. "I _do_   have a bladder that requires some attention, I must admit--"

Magneto smiled. "I believe _that,_ at least, can be dealt with." He gestured to a small curtain beyond the bed. "Behind there. Do you require assistance?"

"Just to my feet," Wyngarde said with what he hoped was panache. Magneto laughed, and helped him rise. Wyngarde wabbled over behind the curtain, and was back sitting on the bed a minute later. "Very well. Now, if you care to inform me--what _did_   happen? Where is the Stranger?"

"Gone," Magneto said. "Off to the stars, where he came from."

Wyngarde was stunned. "The hell you say. He was an _alien?_ "

"More than that," Quicksilver said. "He was a collector of mutants. If not for the Gianelli girl, he would have taken both Magneto and the Toad."

"Curioser and curioser," Wyngarde said. "Magneto--what did she _do,_ anyway? And how was the Stranger able to overcome _you?_ " He paused. "I do not mean that question in any disrespectful way."

"I do not take it as such, Jason," Magneto said. "As for how he did it--the Stranger has powers that I frankly cannot understand. But it is good to know, because it shows that there _are_ powers out there beyond ours. _For the moment._ _Homo Superior_ has work to do. And much to learn. And Shift--" Magneto paused. "Wyngarde--she came to our defense. Everyone else was too stunned to react. _She_ was not. She confronted the Stranger. And he turned her into something that I can say in all honesty I do not understand. Some sort of fire-figure. Charles Xavier was as astonished as I. The girl Jean Grey seemed to have some sort of resonance to this thing. She seemed to, well, communicate, with it. And that is all I can say."

Wyngarde's head was spinning around. "This is all very bizarre, Magneto. Did the Stranger explain his actions at all? And what did he do to _me?_ "

Magneto shrugged. "The Stranger spoke in riddles. The upshot is, the Grey girl has something up her sleeve--something even _she_ does not realize the nature of. The Gianelli girl somehow got in the middle of this. And _we_   have a dilemma. Until we know more, we are somewhat stymied, or so it seems to me. This appears to be something basic to our existence as mutants. We must know more, before we take any course of action."

"I see that," Wyngarde said slowly. "Or I suppose I do--" He looked at Wanda. "Magneto--I find it hard to believe that Jean Grey can have such importance, while Wanda there does not. I haven't the slightest idea of what I mean, but it's always seemed to me that they are two of a kind, in some obscure but quite real manner. If Jean has significance, Wanda does, too."

Wanda looked uncomfortable with the thought, but Magneto looked at Wyngarde as if he had never really seen him before. "Jason--I believe I have underestimated you. No, really. What you just said is quite--inspired."

"I'm delighted to be of service, esteemed leader," Wyngarde said. "Now--what happened to _me?_ "

Magneto shrugged. "Oh, nothing much. The Stranger turned you into a block of living matter. You were quite out to the world for weeks."

Wyngarde shook his arms, moved his legs. "I feel fine now. I have no memory, good or bad, of the experience. How was I revived?"

"Frankly, Jason, I'm not entirely sure. The X-Men helped. Shift had a suggestion. Charles gauged your actions mentally. I warmed your blood up, slowly. And Wanda threw a hex at the opportune moment. But I think all it did was speed up a process that would have happened naturally, anyway."

"My thanks to all of you," Wyngarde said, slowly getting to his feet. "I do believe I am ready to move around a bit. It would do me good." And so he examined their Brooklyn hideout, and Magneto and the Toad got back to their tasks, and Pietro and Wanda walked with him as he explored.

"You _are_   well?" Wanda asked him, and Wyngarde was amazed by the very real concern he heard in her voice. Something had happened to them all, and not only since his transformation by the Stranger. He thought hard to himself. What _had_   happened? He had been working closely with Magneto for some time before the Stranger had even appeared. He had been working steadily, in good faith. My word. "Good faith". How on earth had _that_ happened? He looked inside himself. Was he falling prey to "pure" motives? How _did_   he regard Magneto these days, anyway?

Forget it. The question was too big for him now. He merely smiled at Wanda and said: "I am fine, my dear Scarlet Witch. Just a little rusty." This seemed to reassure brother and sister, and Wyngarde soon was sitting in a chair, thinking very hard about a great many things.


	54. Hank and Maria Make a Decision

Chapter Fifty-four

* * *

Maria, in her diamond form, was pressing hard against a power-gauge. She was exerting every muscle she had, in the short time before she had to Shift back. The Professor had been testing the limits of her powers comprehensively in recent days. For some reason, that idea frightened her. She had always had an unconscious "block" against seeing just how powerful she really was. The Professor finally decided this was doing her more harm than good, and set out on a project of pushing her to the limits. The rest of the team was up there in the control room, as the gauges pressed her harder and harder.

"One hundred and thirty tons of pressure," Scott said. "Professor--she's handling it with ease."

"She's already gone 50% higher than the Thing's highest reading," Jean said. "And almost twice as much as her 'natural' form. We don't have readings for the Hulk, but I'd be surprised if they were _much_   higher than this, sir."

"Yeah, yeah," Maria grunted. "I'm pretty darned terrific, huh? Come on, you guys, I can take more. Just keep--" She stopped; the pressure was raised to one hundred and fifty tons, and she suddenly found herself weakening. Her arms, in their diamond form, were extended as far as they could go one moment, holding the walls of the gauge at bay. Then--

\--Then she buckled, and the walls slammed together with her between them with a sudden _thwack._ "Maria!" she could hear Jean cry out, and the others called out their own concern. But Maria wasn't in a position to respond, for the good and sufficient reason that at that moment she was a pool of water on the floor of the Danger Room. As soon as she felt the walls overcoming her, she had Shifted into her water form, and took the brunt of the force harmlessly. She seeped between the two walls, and coalesced into a watery figure on the floor of the Room. She waved up at her teammates, and then Shifted back to normal.

"Well, I guess one hundred fifty tons is a bit much," she said cheerfully. "Back to the old drawing board, huh, Professor?"

"As you say," the Professor said. "I think we've learned enough for one day, Maria. You all have free time until lunch." There was a ragged cheer at this unexpected deliverance from routine, and Maria gathered up Hank and took him outside to the garden.

"Any rhyme or reason to this sojourn, Maria?" Hank asked, and Maria simply took him in her arms and kissed him very firmly.

"Not a bit of it," she said. "Just wanted to do that."

"Ah," he said, a look of satisfaction on his face. "Quite so." He paused. "Maria--it's almost been a week. I was going to wait until tonight--but if you have some time...?"

"You want to work up an appetite?" she said with a smile.

"I do believe I had some such notion in my head."

"Sounds good to me." They did so, and after they were through, Hank seemed preoccupied. Maria's head was buried in his shoulder, and he was rubbing his fingers through her sandpaper hair. Maria felt the sadness she always did when "Anna" had come and gone in her weekly incarnation.

"Maria--" Hank said.

"Yes, Henry?"

"You know I want to get a doctorate someday."

"Of course." She looked him in the eyes. "And become a biologist for real. You're _so_   far along that path already-- You know more than most Ph.D's already do. And this is the place to prepare. Here, with the Professor."

Hank nodded. "Oh, I agree. This place is more prestigious than Harvard would be. Everybody knows that. And while I am studying here, I am happy and proud to be an X-Man. But nothing is forever. Maria--someday, would you marry me?'

"Huh?"

"You heard me. Maria, would you take me? And consider the two of us as formally engaged?"

"Hank," she said, and she felt the tears coming to her eyes, the tears coming to her voice. "Oh, _Hank._ " And she started crying, and couldn't stop. He kissed her, and talked to her, and said how much he loved her, and she kept crying, and finally she was able to nod.

"Yes, Hank. Oh _God_. Yes, I'll marry you."

"Thank you, my darling," he said quietly. "I love you. Here." And he produced a ring, with a lovely light ruby red stone in it, and slipped it on her finger.

"Henry McCoy--what is _this?_ "

"This, my darling Maria, is an artificial engagement ring."

"Artificial? What on earth does _that_ mean?"

"It means," Hank said dreamily, "that it--ring, stone, all of it--consists of unstable molecules. If you go into action, it won't slip off your finger the moment you turn into gas or water or whatever. It's stuck to your finger, no matter _what_   freakish stuff you do with your body. Courtesy of Reed Richards."

Maria heard this, and started sobbing helplessly. Hank comforted her some more, and then she smiled up at him. "Boy--you really think of everything, don't you?"

"I do my best."

"You do great. And Hank--nothing on this earth would make me prouder than becoming your wife." She paused. "'For better, for worse'--hey, does that have special meaning for _us,_ or doesn't it?"

Hank frowned. "What 'worse' are you possibly referring to?"

"Nothing," she said, cuddling him in her arms. "Nothing at all." They slept for a time, and cuddled more, and before lunch Maria sought out Jean. And brandished her finger.

"What do you think of _that,_ Red?" she said proudly. Jean looked at her, and her eyes popped, and the two girls were cooing in each other's arms before either knew what was happening.

"Oh, Maria--I'm _so_ happy! Hank is such a galoot. But he came through!"

"He did!" Maria said excitedly. "Hey-- _me_   before _you!_ Would you have believed it!"

Jean considered. "I don't believe I would have," she finally said. "But Scott and me--it's as if we don't have to say anything."

"Maybe not," Maria said. "But it's not bad to hear the words, Jeannie, I can assure you."

"I'll take your word for it!" When Maria and Jean came down to lunch somehow word had already gotten out, because Warren, Bobby and Scott all clapped as she entered the dining room. Hank smiled, kissed her, and Maria brandished her ring again.

"Hey, people-- _this_ is genuine, 100% guaranteed unstable molecules. Nothing you'd get in a Cracker Jacks box!" And there was a laugh from the entire table. The Professor looked at the young couple.

"Maria--Hank--you are both young. But you both are also older than your years, and our situation makes us cram a life's worth of experiences into a short time. Our lives are uncertain. I'm delighted you've chosen to commit to each other. May you both have the happiness you deserve." There was a cheer from the table, and Maria curtsied.

"Thanks, guys," she said. She smiled significantly at Jean. "And may our example prove to be an inspiration to others." There was another cheer at these words, and Jean blushed bright red.

"I'm taking the Fifth on that," she said. Scott, smiling quietly, said nothing.

Hank cleared his throat. "People--this is likely to be a long engagement. I want my Ph.D someday, and we both have much to learn about all sorts of things. But again--who knows? As the Professor says, life is uncertain at best. In any event, we wanted to make it official. We both know what we want out of life."

Bobby raised his glass. "To Hank and Maria. Cheers!" The others raised their glasses, echoed the toast, and drank. Then Warren smiled and raised his glass again.

"I have a toast," he said. "To Maria having children someday. Somehow. Some way. We all know she wants them. May she find the path." Maria looked down at the floor, because she instinctively felt the others could see her blush, absurd though that notion was. There was an enthusiastic cheer for this toast, too. Professor Xavier gave them the whole day off, and there was a very enthusiastic impromptu engagement party. Before the day was done, Carla and Stevie and Frank had all somehow materialized, and a young lady introduced to Maria as "Candy" showed up at Warren's side, and the Greys had appeared from Annandale, and to Maria's total astonishment J Jonah Jameson appeared, and harrumphed and wished her happiness, and she kissed him enthusiastically on the cheek. By the end of the day the Avengers and the Fantastic Four had even showed up, and there were TV trucks and reporters outside, and Maria was thinking to herself that she could get used to this.

* * *

Maria gulped. Hank drove up to the small frame house in Reading, and smiled reassuringly at Maria. "It'll be OK, Maria. Believe me. My folks are good people. They'll adore you." She smiled wanly at him, and hoped for the best.

He opened the door for her, and she stood up. She was wearing a classic blue suit, with a knee-length skirt. She hoped she didn't look as absurd as she felt. For a moment, she envied Jean--all women--the sleekness of their forms, the smoothness of their legs. She was a lump. But a lump whom Hank loved. She smiled at him, took his proffered hand, and walked up to the front door.

Edna McCoy was there immediately, and hugged her son. "Hank! Oh, I'm _so_   happy for you both!" And she smiled at Maria, and the latter had the astonishing experience of realizing that this simple, saintly woman meant every syllable of what she had just said. She _was_ happy for her son. Maria fell into Edna's arms, for the good and simple fact that there wasn't a reason on earth why she shouldn't.

Hank shook hands with his father, and Norton McCoy looked Maria over, and smiled almost shyly. He came over and hugged her, too. "If there's one thing I know about you, Miss Gianelli--"

"Oh, Maria, please. No formality."

"--Fine. Maria. It's a privilege... If there's one thing I know, it's that you're a good and decent young woman. Everything I've read about you says that to me. Oh, you're a bit high-spirited, but Godalmighty you have cause to be. You're unique, girl. But Hank wouldn't have fallen in love with someone who _wasn't_   decent." Hank blushed deep red at this speech, but Maria just smiled knowingly.

"I couldn't agree more, Mr McCoy. And I fell in love with him because of his decency. Wherever Hank goes, he takes you two and what you taught him about life with him."

"Oh, my!" Edna said. "How the girl talks, Norton!" But Maria could tell that Edna McCoy was pleased with what she had said. Hank's mother had prepared a veritable feast for the young couple, and by the time they had finished devouring it, even Carla's meals seemed a distant memory. Edna brought out a cake, and Maria put up a hand.

"Please, Mrs McCoy--not another bite!"

"Oh?" Edna said, smiling warmly. "That's not what _I_   hear about you, young lady. This is an engagement feast! You two eat it up!" And so Maria "reluctantly" ate a piece of the cake. And then another piece. And one more. And even Hank was laughing by then.

They spent a quiet evening talking, then Edna showed Maria up to a small room on the second floor. Maria unpacked her suitcase, while Edna looked at her with approval. Then Edna sat down on the edge of the bed, and gestured for Maria to join her.

"Maria--are you disappointed, that you and Henry aren't sharing a room?"

Maria paused, struck almost dumb. Then: "I hadn't given that any serious consideration, Mrs McCoy."

"I know you haven't, Maria. You _are_ a good girl. But after all--you two _are_ engaged now. And these days aren't our days. I'm glad you didn't ask, don't get me wrong. But I would have understood." She smiled at the girl. "I know that you and Hank have made love. You're both very romantic. You wouldn't have been able to avoid it, I think."

And Maria, fighting off tears, seeing this wonderful woman right next to her, broke down and told her everything about her situation--her inability to be a woman except for brief periods of time, her existence as "Anna", and the love that Anna and Hank could share--once a week. Edna McCoy listened intently.

"Oh, my," she said when Maria was done. "Oh, my dear--that is _so_   sad! Not really able to be husband and wife at all. Not in the true sense of the word...having nothing but hope." She looked up and stroked Maria's rough hair. "But you _do_ have that, don't you, my dear? I can see that so strongly in you. You want to be a true wife to Hank, don't you?"

Maria fought back tears. "Yes, Mrs McCoy. Yes, I want that very much. I want to be a wife to him. Bear children for him. He deserves that. And so do I. I admit it."

"Of course you deserve it!" Edna cried out. "Oh, my dear--you're a woman. I don't know why God has made you as you are, but He has a reason for everything. He made you female, and you must _never_   give up hope!" Maria was sobbing openly now, and Edna had her arms around her.

"You--you deserve grandchildren too, Mrs McCoy," Maria said. "And I can't give them to you. _Is_   this really a marriage at all? I'm feeling so unsure of myself now--"

"Hush! You stop it, Maria Gianelli! Don't start _that._ You are what you are, and Hank loves you. You love him. _That_ is what God sees. As for grandchildren, well, if God wants it to be, then He will. If not, then not. You just do your best and follow your heart." She paused. "And you'd best start calling me Edna. I really prefer that to Mrs McCoy."

Maria smiled a little. "Yes, Edna." She slept like a stone that night. The next day, she and Hank walked all over Reading, seeing how everyone gawked at the sight of her. Maria was used to being on display by now, but Reading was a far cry from Greenwich Village and Times Square. Still, even here, children came up to Maria and asked her questions, looked wide-eyed at her, and congratulated her on her engagement. Maria noted, however, that in Reading a few parents pulled their children away as she approached. She sighed to herself. The poor kids would just pick up habits of bigotry and ignorance. But she couldn't cleanse the world of those things herself. Still--she hoped she had made a difference, and would continue to do so.

Hank, meanwhile, seemed to enjoy parading around town with Maria by his side. He introduced her to a few of his old friends and acquaintances they encountered, and every one of them was nervous. But Maria, feeling charitable, chalked most of this up to the simple fact that she had become a celebrity. And God--wasn't _that_   a trip! Not quite a year ago, she had been wandering the forests of this state, north of here, near Williamsport. Then Frank had found her. And Jean Grey. And her life had begun.

Maria found that she rather liked Reading. The Schuykill River wasn't exactly the Blue Danube, but it was a solid, blue collar river for a blue collar town. The people were solid too, about as unlike the _habitues_   of, say, the Coffee-a-Go-Go as could be imagined. She found that refreshing. They didn't treat her either as an amusing freak or as an inspiration for poems. Rather, they treated her as an Outsider who had been brought here by a local renegade. Had she arrived as "Anna", it probably wouldn't have made that much difference.

One meeting Maria especially cherished. Hank, two days into their trip, ran into a young woman whom Maria immediately realized was slightly retarded. She wasn't pretty or comely--but then, who was _she_   to judge any woman along those lines? Hank introduced her as Brenda Koplowitz. She curtsied when Hank introduced her to Maria.

"That isn't necessary, Brenda," Maria said, a bit flustered. But Brenda shook her head.

"Oh, yes it is, Miss Gianelli. You and Hank--you're important people. Doing important things. I want to respect you properly."

Maria looked at Hank, as if asking how to respond. He smiled, and took Brenda's hand. "Brenda--"

"Yes, Hank?"

"Maria and I _are_   doing important things. But we're doing them because that's just how we were born. We're _able_   to do them. Everyone is born with some special gift or other. Even you. You were born with a good heart, and you help people with it all the time."

Brenda flushed. "Go on, Hank! Don't make fun of me!"

Maria hugged Brenda. "Brenda--he's not kidding in the least. I'm really glad to know you. I hope you'll always be my friend."

Brenda got flustered. "Hank, Maria--Miss Gianelli--"

"Maria, Brenda. Maria."

"--Maria--come on. I'm nobody special."

"You are if I _say_ you are," Maria said, smiling at the girl. After a second, Brenda smiled back.

"You really want to be _my_ friend?" she said, voice halting. Maria nodded vigorously.

"You bet! I'd appreciate it if you would be, Brenda."

Brenda thought for a second, then nodded. "OK, Maria. If you'd like, I will be. But nobody will believe it."

Hank and Maria laughed, and walked Brenda back to her home. Maria met her parents, who were in awe both at seeing Maria and by the fact that she had befriended their daughter. Maria could tell that they regarded poor Brenda as a "problem", and she gave the girl as much support and affection as she could before she and Hank departed for home.

"That poor kid," Maria said softly as they walked up Schuykill Avenue. "It makes me feel a lot less sorry for _me._ "

"Brenda is special," Hank said with a chuckle. "I'm very glad you saw that, Maria."

"Oh, _that_ was easy." She turned to him. " _You_   made it easy, partner. Have I told you lately how much I love you?"

"Not for the last fifteen minutes."

"I'm slipping." A throng of just-out-of-school teenagers passed them by, gawking of course at Maria, and she took Hank in her arms and kissed him passionately as they did so, to the sounds of cheers. He flushed a little when she broke off, and they continued on, hand-in-hand.

"You _do_   enjoy disconcerting me," he said a little huskily.

"Damned straight," she answered. "Henry, when the day comes that I am _not_   disconcerting you, I'll be ready for the grave."

Hank laughed. "I'll remember that." Maria's visit lasted five days in all, and Edna shamelessly did her best to fatten both of them up. Maria, it must be said, didn't exactly discourage these attempts.

* * *

Jean looked at the cover of the latest edition of _Time._ There, in solid black-and-white, was a picture of Maria. Her engagement to Hank had set off yet another media firestorm, and Jean did her best not to be jealous. It was absurd, she knew. And she wasn't, really. But Maria engaged--! Jean felt a physical ache, thinking of how much she missed Scott, his touch, his caress, during the day. If she only had ten or fifteen minutes a week with him! The thought made any thoughts of jealousy melt away quickly. What Maria and Hank shared, they shared intensely. But it would of necessity be almost a Platonic marriage. Unless a miracle happened. Maria told Jean that Hank still had "issues"--a word Jean did not try to have clarified--about making love to Maria's other female Shift forms. Well, the poor boy would have to get over _that._ Of course, there was the absurd time-limit. Once, Maria had confessed to her, Hank had forgotten, and found himself coming deep inside Shift instead of "Anna". Unfortunately, Maria's unique physiology had almost given Hank a circumcision as he hastily tried to remove himself from his predicament. _That_ little adventure had impressed itself upon both of them.

 _No babies._ Jean ached at the thought of it. Maria wanted motherhood so desperately-- Jean sighed. No point in thinking too much about _that._ It just reminded her of similar longings of her own. And she and Scott had made an ironclad agreement not to even consider the possibility until Jean turned twenty-one. Two-and-a-half more years! Darn it! It seemed forever. And she knew Scott. He was too responsible and cautious for there to be any "accidents". And she knew herself. She could--indeed, had--made jokes with Scott about the matter. About an "accident". They liked to make jokes, about all sorts of things. She didn't think he suspected that her jokes on _this_ subject were very wistful ones, indeed. But ultimately, she, too, was too responsible and cautious. Blast it!

Since their return from Reading, Maria and Hank had had a few TV interviews together, and Maria had impressed Jean with her mature attitude towards the whole business. She had come so far from the wild thing Jean had encountered, outside Williamsport! Hank seemed a bit overwhelmed by the attention. He had always been the "quiet one". But Jean Grey was well aware that Hank McCoy had a hundred devils inside him, just waiting for their chance to emerge. She smiled to herself. Maria would help _there._ If anyone could unleash devils, it was Maria Gianelli.

Jean stretched. She was in the gym, lifting weights, _Time_   magazine put aside. She was wearing a form-fitting one-piece leotard. Stretching made her feel very feline for a second. Quick, girl--if you _were_ a cat, what kind would you be? Not a house-cat, a tame tabby. No, indeed. Something dangerous, something _lethal._ A tigress? No. That was too solitary. Jean was a ferocious feline, to be sure, but also one who looked over and protected her fellows with a fierce vigilance. A lioness...? Yes. Yes, the idea of being a lioness very much appealed to Jean Grey. She walked over to the window. Branches outside broke up the sun as it entered through the window. As she stood there, she could see the grounds of the School almost as the Veldt, her natural habitat. The hunting grounds of Jean Grey, mutant and budding lioness. Looking for her prey.

Almost on cue, Scott walked into the gym. He gave Jean a quizzical look. "Aren't you supposed to be exercising, Jean?" he asked lightly. Jean frowned. That was _not_   the proper tone of respect to give a lioness. She walked over to Scott and bared her teeth.

"You may just force me to devour you," she said with what she hoped was a menacing edge to her voice. Scott considered her words.

"Well, I couldn't imagine a better way to go," he finally said. "May I ask why I am to be devoured?"

"Because I _can_ , of course," she said as if that was too obvious to need explaining. "I'm a budding lioness, I'll have you know."

" 'Budding'?" Scott asked, in a very serious tone of voice. "I thought you had achieved that status long ago."

"Not yet," Jean said, still very carefully not smiling. "I've always wanted to be a predator. I believe that my day is coming. This has been a warning, by the way."

Scott nodded. "Fine, Jean. I'll keep your warning in mind. But maybe we could finish exercising first...?"

Oh, how reasonable he sounded! Scott _always_ sounded reasonable. Well, buster, not today! "I don't think so," Jean said, coming up to him and putting her mouth against his ear. She gently probed his inner ear with her tongue--the one thing that he had absolutely no resistance against. He jumped into the air, and she laughed with all the mercilessness of the lioness. Or so she hoped.

"What _I_   want," she said, "is to go up to your room--right now, in the middle of the day--and devour you totally. Body and soul. To hell with exercising. _This_ is lots better exercise. What do you think of _that,_ Mr Team Leader and Responsible One?"

Scott seemed to be thinking hard. "When we're done, we come back here?"

"Oh! I'll _kill_   you! Quit torturing me, Scott!"

"Then the Danger Room. A compromise."

"Yes, yes, yes! Anything! But mister, believe me-- _your_   room will be the Danger Room for the next hour or so!"

"A risk I'll have to take." And the lioness went with her doomed prey up to his lair.


	55. A World With No Name

Chapter Fifty-five

* * *

Raven watched as "Janice" swivelled "her" hips across "his" office. Even in a long life full of gender confusions, _this_ fiasco she was embroiled in took the cake. "Janice" went out of "her" way to sexually bait "Graydon", and she, Raven, was a little too stymied by the whole situation to do anything about it. She had to admit, "Janice" was an excellent, professional secretary on those occasions when Raven needed "her" to be one. Which wasn't often.

She had informed Fisk that she believed she was serving no good purpose here. She had informed him of "Janice" and "her" position. Fisk had snorted, and told Raven to keep watching. Something would turn up. Raven chuckled to herself. Quoting Mr Micawber wasn't the sort of thing she imagined Fisk doing.

But maybe he had been right. Because "Janice" suddenly came up to "him", looking excited. "My dear Raven--" "she" said in an excited whisper.

"What is it, Janice?" Raven asked. "Janice" flushed, as "she" always did whenever Raven addressed "her" by her "feminine" name.

"Oh, it's all _too_   wicked, but nonetheless, I think something is up. Bolivar Trask is outside. Wants to see you. No appointment, needless to say. Shall I send him in?"

"Of _course_   you send him in!" Raven said severely, which only made "Janice" smile sexier than ever.

"My dear Graydon--you're _so_ masterful!" And "she" walked away, "her" hips swivelling more than ever. Raven sighed. A moment later, Trask sat down in his office. "We have a problem," he said without preliminaries.

Raven made a gesture of commiseration. "I'm very sorry to hear that, Bolivar. Anything I can do?--would you like anything, by the way?"

Trask shook his head. "No, no. But listen, Graydon, and listen good. Do you know a man named Wilson Fisk?"

Raven almost choked. She just smiled carefully and asked, in a very mild tone of voice: "A little. Has his fingers in various pies. What about him?

Trask scowled. "I've just heard from Ned Buckman. Fisk has a spy in _his_   outfit. A mutie. Emma Frost. A mind-reading witch." Trask stood up and paced around the office. "Listen, Creed--Fisk is more than a man with his fingers in some pies. A lot more. He's a player, and a dangerous one. He's slowly but surely working himself up towards being the #1 player in the country. If _he's_ turned against us, for whatever reason, we're in trouble."

Raven's initial panic had subsided. Clearly, Trask did not suspect _him._ Or her. Whatever. "Why should this Fisk be opposed to our plans?" she asked. Trask snorted.

"Thinks it's bad for business. Business!" Trask looked apoplectic. "As if _I_   give a good goddam about _his_   damned business interests! But he thinks I'm crazy. About to blow up the world. Have you ever heard of anything like it?"

Raven, in that moment, thought Bolivar Trask quite mad enough to do anything. But all she said was: "Can we buy this Fisk off? Offer him a cut? Anything?"

"I'm damned if I will! There's enough of us already. And this Fisk is _dangerous,_ I tell you. Once you start with him--well, he's like the camel in the tent. He'll take over everything. No. We have to deal with him, I tell you. And the way to do _that_   is through this mutie. Send him a message. Deliver his prize mutie to him in little pieces. Believe me, I don't have any qualms about doing anything to goddam muties!"

Raven tried to calm him down. "How did Ned find out? And how much damage has this Emma Frost done, anyway?"

Trask shrugged. "It was sheer luck. One of his friends had business with Fisk-- _everyone_   seems to have business with Fisk--and saw the Frost bitch leave Fisk's private office. That was all we needed. As for the damage she's caused--God knows. That's why we need to make sure she causes no more!"

Raven nodded, trying to look judicious. "As you say, Bolivar, as you say." And, realizing that Trask might be wondering a little about his, Creed's, lack of passion concerning this betrayal, he added: "God knows, any mutie bitch caught working for Fisk against _us_   deserves whatever she gets." _Including me? God--I_ _am_ _in a hole._

Trask smiled. "I'm glad to hear you say that," he said with a smile. "I'm a scientist. Ned is a businessman. _We_   can't get our hands dirty, and besides, we wouldn't know how to go about this. But _you,_ Graydon-- You have your precious Friends of Humanity. _You_   have your own anti-mutie Brownshirts at your disposal. Send some to this Frost woman. Silence her. Permanently. And deliver the corpse to Fisk's office. Do it. Now."

Raven felt the universe sagging on her shoulders. My God. What was she going to do? Well, only one thing she could do _now-_ \- "Of course, Bolivar. I'll get right on it."

Trask grunted with satisfaction. "Excellent, Graydon. I knew I could count on _you._ " He went to the door. "I shouldn't be here any longer than I have to be. Obviously, I couldn't communicate something like _this_ over the phone. I think it should be done within forty-eight hours." And he walked out of the office.

Raven collapsed in her chair. My God. What did she do _now?_   Call Fisk, tell him? She shuddered. She wouldn't be surprised if her phones were being tapped. She could of course morph into someone else and go there and tell him--but could she be sure _she_ wasn't being watched? Even at this moment? Was this a trap for _her?_   She sighed, and got out a pad of paper. She wrote down the discussion she had had with Trask, and called "Janice" into the office. Putting a finger on her lips, she had "Janice" read the paper. "Janice", very serious indeed, looked at Raven and said: "Fisk?" with "her" lips. Raven paused.

"Or Xavier?" she said with her lips in response. "Janice" considered this. "Fisk", "she" finally said lightly. Raven nodded. He would know what to do. "Janice" left, off to morph into God-knew-what. Raven had a case of the shakes, wishing her James Bond adventures would end.

* * *

The _Skimmer_ pulled into orbit around a planet circling an isolated sun. There were no other planets in the system, and indeed the star itself was over a dozen parsecs from any other. This was the Periphery of the Galaxy, and interstellar traffic was light in this entire sector. Imperial Center was over five thousand parsecs away. The Magellenic Cloud--home of the Kree--wasn't too far from this section of the Galaxy; Christopher could see it as a white blur in the black sky of space here, brighter than any star. The Andromeda Galaxy--dominated by the Skrulls--was well over beyond the far side of the Galaxy from where they now were, and six hundred thousand parsecs beyond the Galaxy's edge. This was about as close to isolation as one could get within the Milky Way, and stars were relatively few and far between in the sky as Corsair looked out the viewscreen. The planet below was mostly brown and green from space, with a very few blue patches of sea. Lilandra had said it was mostly land, and deserted--except for the Crystal and its Guardians.

"A tenth of a second," Corsair said to himself. How this mattered to him, to the rest of the Universe, he couldn't have said. What Lilandra had told them--that there was no difference between that interval, and any interval, even one of billions of years--he accepted, at least in his head. But now that he was here in this legendary place, it all seemed somehow unreal to him. It was just another planet they were circling, after all. He turned to Lilandra.

"Your Highness," he said, voice respectful. He had insisted that everyone aboard show her proper respect, even Hepzibah. "We have arrived. What, exactly, is our course of action now?"

She stared down at the surface of this world--a World With No Name, she had called it. In the northern hemisphere, in the midst of a brown continent, was a small flash of light. "There is the Crystal," she said, pointing to the light. "We must beam down there. And I must try to make contact with the Guardian--at least, the first Guardian. See if we can get him to talk, not regard us as hostiles. I believe I can do that. If so, we shall see what we see."

Corsair shrugged. "Waldo?" he asked the sentient computer.

"Yes, Corsair?" came the answer.

"You see that light down there where the Princess is pointing?"

"Of course."

"Getting us down there going to be a problem?"

"Surely you jest."

"Get ready."

"Righto." Christopher Summers sighed and turned to the rest of the Starjammers.

"Are we all ready? Forget for the moment that this is the most dangerous stunt we've ever pulled, and that if Lilandra is right, all of time might be about to go down the drain, like it was being pushed into a garbage disposal. Just act as if we were about to go on any ordinary mission. Are we ready?"

Ch'od laughed. "Of course, Christopher! Just _forget_ all that! I'm ready as always."

Raza shrugged, but Corsair thought he looked tense. "Aye, Corsair. Ch'od speaks like a village idiot sometimes, but in this he is not wrong. Let us forget all that. Aye--I am ready."

Hepzibah, still looking as if she'd enjoy eating Lilandra, just hissed her assent. Corsair nodded, and turned to Lilandra.

"There we are, Princess. The Starjammers are ready if you are."

Lilandra smiled. "Then there's no time like the present." Corsair shrugged, and addressed Waldo.

"I guess it's time, Waldo." Almost before the words were out of his mouth, a helix of light enveloped them all, Starjammers and Lilandra both, and as suddenly as _that_ they were on the surface of the planet, the light spectral and dusky, the sun distant for a planet with a breathable atmosphere. It was chilly, and Corsair shivered to himself. In front of them the M'Kraan Crystal gleamed, its surface a fantasia of exploding light that made Corsair squint. It was bigger than he had thought it would be--it seemed to fill the horizon, though he couldn't say if this was real or an optical illusion. Indeed, he was very uncertain in this moment just what _was_ real or illusion. The others looked around them, and Corsair could see that none of them liked this place very much.

Lilandra walked up to the Crystal, the others following her. As she approached the base of it, a figure appeared in front of them. He didn't exactly stand on top of the Crystal, in fact he was perched on a kind of ledge within it, about halfway up. That surprised Corsair--he would have sworn the Crystal had been perfect, with no flaws, and he found himself wondering if perhaps the "ledge" had appeared solely because of the appearance of strangers, that is, themselves. On the ledge stood a short figure, with white tufts of hair and purple skin. His hands were on his hips, and he seemed to be taking the measure of these intruders--as he saw them.

"This spot is forbidden to all races and beings," he said gently, but his voice carried across the desolate plain they were in. "I give you your chance to leave. Otherwise, you shall be destroyed. This place is inviolate. Go!"

"And for how long is it inviolate, Jahf?" Lilandra said, walking up to the figure and revealing herself. "Will it be so, when all of time has collapsed upon itself? For that is what we face, if no action is taken."

Jahf peered down at her. "Your Highness," he said cautiously. "You present me with a problem. I cannot permit you to intrude here. But you _are_   Shi'ar royalty, which means that I cannot simply regard you as an enemy, either. I would beg of you to leave immediately, so that you do not force my logic circuits to overload."

Lilandra smiled. "Jahf--think. _Use_   those logic circuits. I _am_ here. Would I be, for anything less than supremely vital reasons? And you know of the lapse in time. Indeed, it was _you_ who informed Imperial Center of it. It was _you_ bwho monitored the loss of a tenth of a second in the Universe, from this spot of absolute perfection. That is why I am here. To be honest, my brother is not concerned about the matter. He shuffles it off to his 'experts', who study and shall make a 'report'. Which will likely as not go the way of most government reports. I am here to take action--action you _know_   needs to be taken. And only you can help us."

Jahf considered this. "If I could be certain of your postulates, your Highness, my dilemma would be greatly eased. I would have no choice but to aid you. But how certain can I be, that your postulates _are_   correct? You claim that the Empire is ignoring this situation. Certain evidence would suggest this to be the case. For instance--I have given Imperial Center the facts, but you are the first indication I have had that anyone has listened. That would seem to suggest that you are right, and that they are _not_ taking this seriously. But how can I be sure?"

Lilandra stood as still as a statue. "Jahf--I have no answers for you." Then she strode slowly, but confidently, towards him. "I shall have to win your trust. I come to you, you whom I _know_ am far, far more than a match for me physically. You must choose. You must utilize your logic circuits. If you feel I am lying, then you must kill me. I am ready, should that be your choice. Otherwise, you must conclude that I am telling the truth, and aid us. The choice is up to you." She reached the spot directly beneath the ledge. "And you must make it _now._ "

Jahf looked down at her, and finally sighed. "So be it," he said. "I see I must assume you to be telling the truth, your Highness. Very well. How might I aid you?"

"Tell me of the loss of the tenth of a second, Jahf," Lilandra said. "How did you notice it? What happened?"

Jahf considered. "As you are aware, Highness, time in this spot is absolutely perfect. We need no timepieces here, no clocks, because this Crystal and its environs _are_ a timepiece. We _know_   what the time is, all over the Cosmos, from the absolute perspective we have. And indeed, it was a message from ouside that triggered our knowledge. A more-or-less ordinary communication from Imperial Center, asking for a reading on the Time in the Magellenic Cloud. Merely, I assume, a very ordinary check on the actions of the Kree, similar to a myriad of others. Invariably, comparing these Times will give Imperial Center precise knowledge of Kree actions. We have no problems with providing the Shi'ar this knowledge. You, after all, placed us here to guard the Crystal. But of course, you know too the conditions that were placed upon you when you did so."

"We do," Lilandra said, and Corsair frowned. What on earth were they talking about? Jahf, sensing the Starjammers' confusion, smiled tightly.

"You Outsiders," he said. "While the Shi'ar created us, we do not work _for_   them, except in a nominal sense. This spot is sacred, and does not 'belong' to anyone--even the Shi'ar Royal Family. We quite literally could not perform our functions if we were to act in any way dishonorably, or for aggrandizement of any species or ruler. That is simply how the Crystal works. Those who created us--Lilandra's ancestors--had the wisdom to know this, and hundreds of generations of Shi'ar rulers have followed their example. Lilandra knows this, too." Jahf paused. "I am not entirely certain if her brother realizes this. If not, there shall be problems, Princess."

"I know," Lilandra said humbly. "I trust there are no dilemmas here, Jahf. But I cannot be certain." She turned to Corsair. "In any event, using the Crystal for things like tracking interstellar movements is not considered aggrandizement. It is simply knowledge, and within the purview of the Guardians. If they were asked for information to aid in war--that would be quite another matter. War is unthinkable in this place, and the Guardians would never countenance any aggressive movements."

Corsair nodded. "Very well, your Highness. But what of this missing interval, Jahf? You found it when you checked the movements of the Kree?"

"We did," Jahf said. "As we reported--an interval of not quite a tenth of a second was simply missing from reality. We had difficulty believing our own data, but after all, we are incapable of error. And we reported it."

Lilandra looked about her. "Has there been any physical evidence of the discrepancy, Jahf? Is there any change to the Crystal?"

Jahf nodded. "In a way, Highness. You cannot see it, but there is a flaw. Literally, only a few molecules in the entire Crystal. But it is there, and the time-lapse caused it. If these lapses increase in frequency, or duration, the flaws will get greater. What will happen then, I cannot say. But it will not be good news, for anyone."

"Can you direct us into the Crystal, Jahf? To the area of this 'flaw'?"

Jahf frowned. "I can, your Highness. But what would be the point of doing so? _You_ cannot affect it in any way."

"No," Lilandra said. "But we have recording equipment delicate enough, I believe, to even reflect something as small as _this._ If we have it on record, we can examine it. Needless to say, I use the terms 'recording' and 'equipment' in a very loose sense. It is almost like trying to record the working of quantum mechanics physically. But I should like to make the attempt, even so."

Jahf shrugged. "I have agreed to aid, Princess. It shall be as you say." He seemed to "float" to the top of the Crystal. "Be ready, all of you. I am not entirely sure what will happen to you once the Crystal has been breached by your presence." Jahf made some sort of gesture, and there was a clanging, not physically but _spiritually,_ that rang in Corsair's ears. Then--

\--Then, he, the Starjammers, and Lilandra were in an enclosed space. But, while enclosed, it seemed to stretch to infinity. Corsair felt as if he was suffering a terrible bout of claustrophobia, all the while surrounded by endless vistas. It was an experience he did not enjoy, and he looked around frantically until he found Lilandra. "Princess!" he called out. "What do we do now?"

She had a device of some sort in her hands. She moved cautiously, almost as if she were drunk or staggering. "There--" she said at last, pointing to a corridor that wandered away from them. There were many corridors, and they all were both short, leading nowhere, and infinitely long at the same time. She headed down one. "Here," she said again, more firmly this time. The Starjammers followed, and Lilandra paused in front of a--discoloration, was all Corsair could think of. Somehow, the "air"--if that was the right word--was different here, in a way he could not have explained. Lilandra looked, used senses of her people that Corsair, as a mammal, did not share, and finally nodded her head.

"Here," she said. "The rot is _here._ Do not ask me how I know, or even what I mean by 'rot', because I could not tell you. But it is true." She put the "device" up to her eyes, and looked through it. After a few minutes she put the device down and sighed. "Indeed--only a few molecules. It has been enough. Time is unravelling. And it will only get worse."

Corsair looked around, and as he did so, he heard Raza's voice. "Corsair. We must leave this place. Now."

"Yes," Ch'od said urgently. "Christopher--what is happening here is not what _seems_ to be happening. Nothing in this place is what it seems. I do not believe that we even exist here in a physical sense. We are more like holograms. We must leave now."

"I agree," Corsair said. "Princess--it's time to get out. We've done what we came for."

" _NO!_ " Lilandra called out. She reached for the area of the "flaw". "No! Can't you barbarians _see?_ Can't you _feel?_   This so-called flaw--there is so much here, so much potential--we cannot just leave it--" Her hand seemed to go right through the area of the "flaw". And just as she came to realize that she couldn't touch it--just then--

\--There was a blinding flash of light. And a great many things happened simultaneously.

...In 1961, Reed Richards starts to panic as he feels the cosmic rays coursing through his body. He hears Ben's voice call out, "It's the cosmic rays! I warned you about them!"...

...In 1940, Victor von Doom goes into a tantrum as Reed Richards try to explain that _he,_ von Doom, has made a mistake in his calculations. "Get out, you interfering buffoon! Get out, and do not bother your superiors anymore!"...

...In 1996, Jean Grey-Summers makes a frantic call on the X-Men's emergency communications grid. "Hello? Alex? Cable? Kurt? Anyone? Professor Xavier has gone mad. We should never have trusted that there wouldn't be any adverse reactions to his wiping out of Magneto's mind--"...

...In 1964, Henry Pym works over the body of a man whom the Avengers have fished out of the North Atlantic current. Janet van Dyne says in an excited voice, "don't you recognize him? This is Captain America!"...

...In 1976, Hank McCoy smiles at his fellow Avengers. "It's time to play the old 'break-into-the-Brand-Corporation' game again--"...

...In 1969, Neil Armstrong strides from the bottom of the ladder onto the surface of Luna. "That's one small step for a man, one giant leap for mankind."...

...In 2004, Jean Grey-Summers tries to smile at Scott Summers. "I was always dying on you..."...

...In 1980, Jean Grey looks into the eyes of Scott Summers. "I love you, Scott. A part of me will always be with you."...

...In another 1980, Jean Grey kisses Maria Gianelli and begs of her: "Do it, Maria! Please! Before it's too late!"...

...In 2010, Emma Frost looks disdainfully at Peter Rasputin and Kitty Pryde, still in her incorporeal form in a life-support tube. "Well, if you want to see me throw up in my mouth--"...

...In 1963, Tony Stark gasps in pain as a piece of shrapnel hits him in the chest in Vietnam...

...In a place beyond time, Odin banishes his unruly son Thor from Asgard...

...In 1993, Reed Richards and Victor von Doom both dissolve into nothingness as they grasp one of Doom's devices...

...In 1963, John Fitzgerald Kennedy feels a bullet explode into his brain...

...In 2006, Captain America lies at the foot of the New York Criminal Courts Building, shot through the chest...

...In 1859, Nathaniel Essex hears his wife's last words. "You have become something so totally...sinister!" He feels her die...

...In 1962, Peter Parker cries out in pain as a spider bites him...

...In 2012, Logan looks disdainfully at Quentin Quire, who has a couple of alien beauties on each arm. "Forget it, ladies. He wouldn't know what to do with you."...

...In 1942, Adolf Hitler looks at a young man with a bandaged face in sheer astonishment. The young man has just assaulted his person. "My God! Do you know who I am?" he asks. The young man snarls. "Yes! The one man who is more evil than _I_ could ever be!"...

...In 1989, a party is taking place on the Berlin Wall...

...In 1964, Maria Gianelli shoots a blast of water at Magneto...

...In 1977, Jean Grey says to Scott Summers, "hush, Scott. Don't you _see,_ my darling? We're _inside_   the Crystal"...

All this, and an infinite number of other events, occurred at that moment.

...And in 1965, Christopher Summers gasps as he finds himself on the outside of the M'Kraan Crystal again, Lilandra and the Starjammers next to him. They all cautiously get to their feet. "What the hell just happened, anyway?" Hepzibah says, looking with deep distrust at Lilandra. Jahf, standing above them, answers.

"Reality has had another bite taken out of it," he said. "This time, it was 14/100 of a second. Just a bit longer than the first one." Corsair looked at Lilandra.

"Did you trigger that, Highness? When you reached out for the so-called 'flaw'?"

Lilandra looked shaken. "I do not know," she said. She looked at Jahf. "Did I cause that, Jahf?"

The Guardian robot shook his head. "No, Highness. Do not flatter yourself. Your presence might have been the mechanism that triggered _this_ specific time-shift, at _this_   particular instant. But it would have happened about now anyway."

"Well, what _is_ happening?" Corsair asked. "And how can we fix it?"

Jahf looked pensive. "I have no answers to either of your questions, human. I do not know where this flaw is coming from, or how to fix it. And if _I_   do not know..." He shrugged. "Highness--you _must_ impress upon D'Ken, upon the Kree, upon anybody, what is happening here. These time-shifts will continue in frequency and duration. _That_   I do know. The 'flaw' will grow, unless it is fixed. Eventually, all of time and space will sink down, into the equivalent of a super black hole."

Lilandra looked chastened. "I behaved foolishly in there. I need none of _you_ to tell me that." She looked at Corsair. "Beam us back. We must return to the civilized Universe, immediately. I have things I must do."

"Like what, Highness?" Corsair asked. "And can we help?"

"Like knocking some sense into D'Ken's head!" she said urgently. "Or if not him, then any within the Empire who will listen. As for you and the Starjammers..." Lilandra shrugged. "Get me home, first of all. After that...well, I recruited you in the hope that you would try and convince someone, anyone, who would listen, and conceivably help." She looked at Corsair. "Have you any ideas along these lines?"

Christopher Summers smiled tightly. "Perhaps I do, Princess. Perhaps I do. I'm a gambler, and I rather think I'll play a hunch."

Lilandra looked content. "Very well then, Corsair. Any hunch of _yours_ is well worth attempting. " She looked at the Crystal and shook her head. "And if you are a believer in the Great Nesting, you might pray."

Soon they had left Jahf, the Crystal, and the World With No Name behind in a frantic race to get to Imperial Center. That night, Corsair looked out the viewscreen as the stars raced by. He realized he wasn't alone. Hepzibah had come up next to him, swished her tail against him in just that way he loved, and murmured something in her own tongue, which he couldn't speak but could understand--especially in times like this.

"What are you going to do after we drop Lilandra off?" she asked then, in English. "Have you a plan, Christopher?"

Corsair smiled, nodded. "Yes, my pet. I think so." He looked intently out at the stars. "I think it just may be time for me to go home."


	56. Charles Xavier's Story

Chapter Fifty-six

* * *

Maria was in the language lab, trying to handle Latin conjugal verbs. For some reason, the Professor was a stickler on his students knowing at least the rudiments of Latin. Maria thought that "vini, vidi, vinci" was enough for any sensible person, and she also thought that her childhood Italian imbibed from her grandmother would be a major aid in learning Latin. She sighed. Both opinions, it seemed, were wrong...

What the hell was that? A scream, almost human in intensity, filled the Mansion. But it wasn't a human voice-- Cerebro! But Maria had never heard it this loud. She raced to the entrance of the South Wing, and found her fellow X-Men congregated outside the entrance. Scott was in the lead, and he looked at Professor Xavier, who was inside with Cerebro.

"Scott," Maria heard the Professor say, and her heart froze. She had never heard a note like _that_   in his voice before. She looked at the others, and they all looked at each other. Something serious was happening. "Please enter, and have all the X-Men enter as well." Scott nodded to the team, and they all followed him as they entered the chamber. The Professor was looking carefully at Cerebro. The machine was still wailing like a banshee, and its lights were so bright and blinking that Maria was afraid the whole thing might explode.

"Professor," Scott said in a deadly quiet voice that frightened Maria more than anything. She looked at Jean, and saw that she, too, was impressed. Their eyes met, then Maria looked at Scott again. "What is it, sir? What is happening?"

Professor Xavier shut his eyes, sighed deeply. "Something that I had hoped would never come to pass, Scott," he said. "We have some time. I must tell you all what is happening, why it is happening. But first, we must at least make _some_   attempt to put up a defense against what is about to engulf us. I do not believe that we shall be successful." He looked up at them, and Maria felt a thrill of fear as she realized that Professor Xavier--who was so stolid and steady in all crises--was deeply troubled. Even afraid.

"My X-Men--the greatest danger we have ever faced is about to fall upon us. Only _one_ person can make Cerebro react like this." The Professor pushed a button, and the machine's shriek went silent. "That is better. Cerebro has done its job. It has gotten our attention. We know what is coming. It only remains to be seen if we are up to the task of stopping it. I tell you this, my students: I am not sure. This is a power that may be too great for us."

Scott looked steadily at the Professor. "I take it, sir, that a dangerous new mutant menace is on our doorstep?"

Professor Xavier shook his head. "No, Scott. Would that it were--! Any mutant, no matter how dangerous, would concern me less. No, this threat we face is _not_   a mutant, although Cerebro has reacted to it. No, what we face is something quite different."

"What _is_   the menace, then Professor?" Jean asked quietly. The Professor looked sad, Maria thought, as he answered.

"Jean--all of you--the menace we face is my own brother." The X-Men looked at each other, astonished. It was finally Scott who spoke.

"Your _brother,_ sir?"

Professor Xavier sighed deeply. "Yes, Scott, I fear so. There is so much to tell you--! But first things first. All of you--listen to me..." He spoke for a minute or so, and then the X-Men raced into action. Maria went to the edge of the School's grounds and, Shifting into a metallic form with arms formed like shovels, dug out a pit that ran around as much of the periphery of the grounds as she could cover. This wasn't as difficult as she might have imagined it--her "arms" were sharp, and she cut into the ground rapidly. Scott would sometimes use his optic blasts to augment her work. As she finished, Jean used her TK powers to erect a rough-and-ready "fence" of iron and concrete where Maria had dug. This took perhaps an hour, and when Maria and Jean were finished they found that the others--helped again by Scott--had dug more trenches, filling them with missiles filled with gas. Finally, Maria and Jean went back to their make-shift "wall" and placed depth charges strategically around it, that would go off if the "wall" were penetrated. When they were finished, the students rejoined the Professor, now in his study. He bade them sit down, which they did. Maria thought the Professor looked tired, and seemed to bear a heavy weight, not on his shoulders but on his spirit.

"This challenge we face is a very great one, my X-Men," he said. "We face a foe whose sheer physical might is unparalled--even, possibly, by Magneto. But even more than that, we face a foe who seeks me out for my sins--and his, too, of course. My past has caught up with me."

Hank looked puzzled. "What do you mean, sir? How can your brother be this menace, anyway? And how can your imagined 'sins' be affecting anything here and now?"

The Professor smiled gratefully at Hank. "Thank you, my boy. But my sins are far from 'imagined', much as I might wish otherwise. No, my X-Men, you must listen to me as I tell you the story of my life--and Cain's."

" 'Cain'?" Jean asked. The Professor nodded.

"Indeed. Cain Marko is my older stepbrother. His father--" He shook his head. "Let me start in the beginning. My father was a scientist. A biologist, like myself. He also was very wealthy. The Xavier fortune goes back many generations. He became involved in the Manhattan Project as a consultant, concentrating on the effects of radiation on human beings. There were accidents at the Project. And also, even then, some were looking forward beyond the War and the Project itself, to the day when the Bomb would be an everyday reality and we had to consider how to deal with it. He immersed himself in his work, and learned much of what we know now about the effects of radiation on humans." The Professor paused, looked thoughtful. "There were remarkable men there, at Los Alamos. Oppenheimer himself, who recruited my father. Fermi. Teller. General Groves. And towards the end, the young Reed Richards. He had seen combat in the War, but was mustered out in order to help with the Project. His gifts were _so_   extraordinary even at that young age that he couldn't be wasted in combat. That is where we first met." The Professor sighed. "I of course was only a boy. My mutation hadn't kicked in yet. In fact, I've often wondered if my exposure to radiation at the Project augmented my natural mutant powers. If the reason why my psychic powers--to be blunt for a moment--dwarf other mutant psychics is because of that. But be that as it may, Philip Marko was also there. He was brilliant, not quite on the level of Richards or Fermi, but an exceptional intellect. At that time, Cain was not with him--that is, in Los Alamos. I did not meet him until after the War. Marko became friends with my father, and also my mother." The Professor paused a moment. "My mother was a woman of delicate health, and easily mastered by a man. While my father lived, she depended upon him for everything--money, emotional sustenance, her very sense of identity. She was, on the other hand, distant towards me. I feel now that she regarded me as an obstacle, a rival for my father's affection and attention. My father was fond of me, but he was also very busy, and both my mother and I were neglected to some extent. I was lonely and somewhat bewildered at Los Alamos. I understood nothing of what was happening, only that we were in this town that was no town, more of a military camp with security everywhere, and no one speaking a word about the whys or wherefores.

"In any event, Philip Marko became close to our family. He seemed especially fond of my mother, and I soon felt resentment towards him because of this. He became something of a monster in my eyes. This has always colored my feelings about him. But I am certain that there was nothing improper between them while my father lived." The Professor bowed his head. "And so we come to July 16, 1945--the day of Trinity. The first test of the atomic bomb, at Alamagordo. My father was with the others, at the bunker awaiting the test. Which, of course, was a success. And I was there, too." Charles Xavier paused. "I should not have been, but I was accepted by then almost as a mascot by everyone in the Project, and my intellect was already keen. Yes, I was allowed there. I saw the explosion, felt the shock wave, and heard Oppenheimer say, 'I have become death, the shatterer of worlds'. All quite as in the history books," he said with a small smile. "But what I did _not_   see was my father. Somehow, he had gotten outside the protected bunker when the bomb went off. He was found sometime later, wandering in the desert, dying of radiation sickness. No one could tell how he had gotten out, what had happened. But I-- _sensed_ \--extreme emotion on the part of Philip Marko. That was the very first manifestation of my psychic powers. He knew something about what had happened. I _knew_   this."

The Professor paused, as if listening. "Our foe is getting close. He is no longer hiding himself. His journey from Korea must have been one of stealth, to avoid being intercepted or thwarted along the way. Or to avoid alerting _us._ "

Maria stirred. "Korea, sir?"

He shook his head. "I was getting ahead of my story, Maria. Excuse me-- In any event, my Father died three days after the Trinity test, of advanced radiation poisoning. While no one was sure how he had gotten out of the bunker, no one suspected anything, either. With the Bomb a success, the Project was over, and my mother brought me back here, to the family Mansion. But grief and loneliness were too much for her to bear, and soon Philip Marko saw his chance. Mother, as I said, needed a man to depend upon, and Marko was there. She married him, and he moved into the Mansion with us." The Professor shook his head. "It went bad from the start. He spent fortunes on scientific apparatus, and spent his time in his laboratory. My mother was distraught, bitterly reproaching him for ignoring her. This simply made him angry, and the lack of communication between them deepened." He stopped again, and the look of sadness increased. "Then Cain moved in. He had been expelled from yet another prep school. At our first meeting, he pushed me hard in the face. He always acted with an arrogant, flamboyant boastfulness. But there was something about it that wasn't quite convincing. I soon learned why. One night, I was waiting to get to sleep when I found myself _tuning in_   to Cain's thoughts. I was startled, indeed I panicked. His father had beat him savagely, and Cain was sobbing. His shame, his despair--all his thoughts were open to me. He felt a sense of inadequacy, because his father was so prominent a scientist, and Cain had never properly studied or worked to match him. He shrugged it off consciously--'test tubes and bunsen burners, who needs 'em'--that sort of thing. But inside, he felt overwhelmed by guilt that he had let his father down. And while I was there, in his mind, panicking and trying to find a way out--Cain realized I was there. Somehow, he knew. He knew that I could read minds, that I _had_ read his mind, that I knew all his secrets and his shame. And an absolute conviction gripped him--I had done this on purpose. I was _deliberately_   trying to humiliate him. Finally, I managed to extricate myself from his thoughts, but I was too frightened to move, to think, to do anything. Something had happened that I did not understand, and could not interpret in any frame of reference that I knew. And I knew, too, that Cain hated me. And probably always would."

Jean suddenly shut her eyes and grabbed her temples. "Sir--I sense-- _something._ It's getting nearer--"

"Yes," the Professor said. "It is he. He is approaching. It shall not be long now. It makes it all the more vital that I finish my story. My mother was always delicate, and the abuse she suffered from Marko--physical and mental--wore her down. She died soon after her marriage, leaving me alone with Marko and his step-son. I cannot describe what a hell my life became. My step-father bullied me mercilessly, hating me all the more because _I_   was the heir to the Xavier fortune, and not him. Cain, of course, despised me--not without reason. I tell myself that there was nothing I could have done in that situation, but whatever the truth of that, it had happened. I knew every dark secret Cain Marko possessed, and he _knew_   I knew them. I cannot imagine a worse nightmare for anybody. I do not blame him for hating me, no matter how innocent I was of intent. Philip Marko, meanwhile, began to drink, blamed _me_   for Mother's death, and generally went downhill with astonishing speed. One day, it all came to a head. Cain and I were in his laboratory, and he had been drinking again. He should not have been working in that state with some of that delicate apparatus. Cain, as always, was angry. And they quarreled, as always. But this time it was worse than usual. Words were said that could not be taken back, by both of them, and finally Cain smiled at him.

" 'You think you're so damned smart', he said in a mocking tone of voice. 'That you're such a damned level-headed man of science. Sure you are'. He looked at me. 'Shall we tell Chuck here just _how_   level-headed you really are, Dad? Shall we tell him what really happened to _his_   father'?

"Philip Marko went as white as a sheet. 'What do you mean?' he asked in an almost inhuman voice.

"Cain just laughed in reply. 'Oh, yeah! You're just an innocent babe...' He turned to me. 'Just why _do_   you think your Dad went out walking into the desert right before an _atomic test,_ anyway, Chuck? Have you ever wondered? I'll bet you have. Well, _I_   know. Would _you_   like to know'?

" 'Shut up!' Philip Marko shouted, and slapped his son hard. Cain laughed, and smacked his father brutally with the back of his hand.

" 'Don't you do that, Dad,' he said harshly. 'Don't you _ever_   do that to me again.' Cain turned to me. 'Time for you to grow up, Chuck. _I'll_ tell you why your Dad was out there wandering in the desert. The old man here has said why enough, when he's in his cups...' He almost spat at his father, his contempt was so great. 'He was out there, Chuck, because Daddyo here told your Dad that he--Philip Marko--was screwing your mother. And that she liked it. A whole lot better than she liked _him_ doing it. He told him this right before the test. And it seems that your poor old Dad just kind of wanted to go out and get himself filled up with radiation.' "

The Professor almost shook with emotion, the memory was so intense. Jean went over and hugged him, kissed his cheek. "It's all right, sir. It's all right."

The Professor choked up. "Bless you, child--" He swallowed, and resumed. "Marko went wild with rage, grabbed a piece of apparatus and took a swing at Cain. I believe he was seriously trying to kill his own son at that moment. In the event, all he did was knock over some machinery, and this triggered an explosion. Philip Marko caught the full brunt of it, and fell to the floor. Both Cain and I could see that he was dying. Cain just stood there, stunned, unable to move, to speak, to react in any way. But Philip gestured to me with his last strength, and I came down close to him.

'' 'Charles--' he gasped. 'I want you to know the truth. I never cheated with your mother while your father was alive. But I _did_   tell him that I had. I knew him. I knew what the effect my saying that would have--' He gasped again, and began to spit up blood. 'I wanted your mother. And the money and power being her husband would give me. So in effect I murdered your father. I can't ask you to forgive me. But I _am_ sorry, for what little it's worth'. He gasped again, and I could feel his death rattle begin. 'Beware of Cain', he said in his last breath. 'Beware. If he learns of your power--' Those were his last words. He shuddered, and died."

The Professor was silent for some time. "There is little more to tell, really. Cain seemed to have little reaction to the death of his father. He never knew what words passed between us. I went on to school and college, and Cain used his father's money--Marko had some in his own right--to enjoy his life. We had some contact with each other, but not too much. He was jealous of my successes, both academically and athletically. I grew up, filled out, and became an excellent runner and basketball player. Since I could read minds, I knew when an opponent was planning to take some action or another. But in the end, I felt that using this advantage was dishonorable, so I quit. Cain, meanwhile, spent his time in dissipation. He became a fledgling alcoholic. Once, driving me home from school, I could tell he had been drinking. He started to expound on all the obstacles fate had thrown in his way, and on all my iniquities. He was so caught up in this that he didn't notice a dangerous curve, and the car went over. He jumped out at the last moment, but I remained in the car, and was caught in the explosion."

"Was that when you lost the use of your legs, Professor?" Warren asked. The Professor shook his head.

"No. No, that came--later. In another country, another continent. But the shock, the trauma, of the crash was bad enough. It took me months to recover." He paused, and a roar could suddenly be heard from outside the Mansion.

"He has arrived," the Professor said softly. "He has reached the first obstacles." The X-Men rushed to the window. The trenches Maria had dug were hundreds of yards from the Mansion, but they could see distantly something slowly moving across the western grounds of the School.

"Do you want us to rush him, sir?" Bobby said. The Professor shook his head.

"No, Robert. We have very little time, and I wish to finish my story. But be ready, all of you." He turned to Maria. "Especially you, my dear. You have had many tests since you joined the team. I fear that this will be your sternest. It is _you,_ Maria, who must bear the brunt of the battle today. Are you ready?"

Maria nodded. "I'm ready, sir," was all she said. The Professor nodded.

Hank was frowning. "Professor--it's clear that this Cain Marko was an inveterate misanthrope. But how did he get this power that just seems to emanate from him? Even _I_   can sense it."

The Professor nodded. "A good question, Hank. And we are almost near the end of the story." There was a sudden sound of an explosion, and they all went back to the window.

"He's triggered one of the booby-traps!" Jean called out in an excited voice.

"He has," the Professor said. "And it hasn't stopped him in the slightest. I feared such would be the case."

"What do we do, sir?" Maria asked.

"Wait," he replied. "Until we have seen if the gas affects him. I do not believe it will, but we shall see..." He sighed. "The rest of my story is briefly told. We found ourselves in 1953 in the same unit in Korea. It was frustrating, back-and-forth combat over the same area, all the while knowing that the war was drawing to a close, that the Armistice talks were proceeding apace. To be honest, morale in the Army was dissolving in front of everyone's eyes. What Cain did was hardly unique to him. He decided to take a little vacation from the fighting. While the bullets were flying around us, he ran into a cave and thought to lay low. I cursed him under my breath and followed, hoping to get him out of there before an officer noticed what he had done. But as I went further into the cave, calling out his name, I noticed a strange red light ahead of me. I turned a corner--and saw Cain, standing in front of an idol, with a red ruby shining in its forehead. I cried out his name, but he wasn't aware of me. He seemed fascinated with the ruby. He reached for it--and I called out a warning--"

The Professor stopped to take a breath. "Cain seemed entranced. He was hearing something, some voice that was silent for me. He said: 'He who touches the Ruby of Cyttorak, will become a Human Juggernaut'. He did not know what that meant; he only knew that the ruby was so beautiful and he had to grasp it, to make it his own. I cried out, again and again. _I_ knew-or at least had an idea-of what was about to happen. But Cain was not heeding me, and he reached out--and grabbed the ruby. In that moment, he seemed to change, to transform himself. I could just see him start to grow in shape, take on lineaments of overwhelming power. But in that instant, I heard the deep sounds of a cave-in. The entire mountain was coming down around our ears. I called out one last time to Cain, but he was already far beyond anything I--or any mortal--could say or do. I ran, because I could do nothing else if I wanted to survive. He remained, and the mountain fell down upon him."

The Professor said nothing for a moment. "Cain was listed as killed in action," he said after a moment. "The enemy had shelled the area of the mountain, and _that_   was the official cause of the cave-in. I escaped, obviously, and the war ended soon afterwards. I was never sure exactly what happened to Cain. I thought he had likely died in the collapse of the mountain. But I could not be _sure._ Obviously, something extraordinary had happened to him when he touched the ruby. Perhaps he had survived, after all. Well, the answer is right in front of our eyes. He is here. He is moving on the Mansion. And, my X-Men, unless I am very mistaken--he is the greatest threat we have ever faced."

There was dead silence. Maria felt a lump in her throat. By God--it was _real,_ wasn't it, girl? Everything so far--except perhaps the Stranger--it almost seemed a game, a game she could never really lose because she was too strong, too invulnerable, too virtuous, too whatever, to be really hurt. This was different. There was a rumbling from outside.

"He has passed the first line of defenses," the Professor said. "He is heading towards the gas bombs. We shall see." They looked out the window. A dark figure--much larger now--was making its way towards a line of wooden missiles. Just as it reached them, the figure triggered something, and gas poured out at him. The figure just stood there for a second, and it seemed to stagger momentarily. Hope rose in the X-Men's hearts. But then--

\--Then the figure recovered its balance and moved on the wooden missiles. It just seemed to stand there, but the X-Men could _feel_   some sort of power exuding from the figure, a power that pushed its way against their flimsy defenses. And soon, those defenses collapsed in a heap.

"My God," Bobby said in awe. "He didn't even _touch_ anything."

"No, Robert," the Professor said wearily. "That is the nature of who, what he is. That is what a Juggernaut is. A force that, once in motion, _cannot_   be stopped. That can overcome _all_   obstacles. That _nothing_ can push aside, or even thwart."

"Yeah?" Maria said. "Well, he's never met _me._ "

The Professor smiled at her. "You are our best hope, Maria," he said. "But now--X-Men, he has moved past our defenses. You must all go out and try to stop him. Now. Scott--I know you are team leader, but this once I must give a command. Let Maria take the lead. Let her face him first. Then the rest of you."

"We won't let you down, sir," Scott said grimly. "He won't come anywhere near you." The others nodded, and they left the study to go out the front door of the Mansion. A dark figure approached them. The gas had darkened the air, and Maria was grateful for the filters they were all wearing in their noses. She walked forward, Shifting into the diamond form. No point in being subtle. Take him out fast, if she could. Hard and brutal. This wasn't a game. The Professor's life--all their lives--were in danger. These people were her family. They were threatened. She strode up to the figure.

"You don't go another step forward," she said. He didn't respond, just stood there. And she felt that power of his, exuding outwards. Towards her. It was amazing. Even in her diamond form, just standing here against it was difficult. This was no good. She had to take the offensive. She moved forward, made a diamond fist, and threw it at the figure emerging from the gas and dust--

The punch was thrown with all the force she had. And the Juggernaut was thrown back. Perhaps three feet. Then he stopped, and paused, looking at her.

"Very good, girl," she heard a deep voice say. "You almost hurt me. For a second. But it isn't enough." He started forward again, and this time Maria just hurled herself at him. She met him head on--

\--And was tossed back, landing on her behind unceremoniously. She shook her head, but before she could move the Juggernaut was rushing her teammates, pushing aside Scott's optic blasts almost as if they were physical obstacles, tossing Hank around like a ragdoll, brushing Warren aside as if he were a gnat, smashing an ice coat as if it didn't exist, barely deigning to notice Jean's telekinesis. The X-Men lay like rubble at his feet, and the Juggernaut moved past them contemptuously.

Maria got to her feet, back in her normal form. OK, then. This was going to be a little tougher than she thought it would be. The Juggernaut blasted open a hole in the side of the Mansion, and walked slowly into the study. Maria followed him. The Juggernaut paused in front of the Professor, and spoke slowly, voice filled with scorn.

"Well, well, Chuck," he said. He wore a helmet, and a brown costume that seemed almost made of living hide that adhered to his immense body. He showed not the slightest trace of concern. "We meet again. For the last time."

The Professor looked at his enemy. "My God," he said almost under his breath. "Cain--it's true. It's really true. You've become a human Juggernaut."


	57. Assault on the Mansion

Chapter Fifty-seven

* * *

Scott got slowly to his feet. He looked around frantically--was everyone all right? Bobby was lying there, stunned. Warren was rising to his feet, eyes blinking. He seemed to be in shock. Hank was rubbing his legs vigorously, as if getting a charlie-horse out of his system. Jean was standing near him, looking open-mouthed at the Mansion. Scott turned to look--and stopped dead.

The Mansion was torn wide open. There was a huge gaping hole where the walls of the study used to be. Looking through the hole, Scott could see Maria standing there, in her natural form, and beyond her the Juggernaut confronted the Professor. The two men seemed to be talking, but then the Juggernaut slowly moved on the Professor. Charles Xavier almost seemed oblivious to this attack on him, and Scott called out a warning just as Maria advanced on their foe.

"X-Men!" he cried. "Get up! Get ready! The Professor needs us!" The team got to their feet and rallied around Scott. He heard faintly the Professor say something to Marko, and then Scott saw the Juggernaut flinch, actually saw him retreat a few feet. Scott recognized a mental assault unleashed by the Professor, but it had only a limited effect on Marko. Then Maria reached him, and wrapped her long arms around the Juggernaut and by a major effort of will pulled him off his feet. The Juggernaut, still confused by the mental attack, seemed easier for Maria to grab hold of, and for a moment Scott felt a burst of hope.

Maria threw Marko out of the blasted area of the Mansion, out into the garden. Scott saw her take a deep breath, and come over to him. "What now, Cyke?" she asked. Scott scowled.

"Now, we make Cain Marko sorry he was ever born!" he cried. "Jean--use your TK to prevent Juggernaut from throwing any of his energies at the Professor. Warren--fly rings around him. Try to confuse him. Bobby--while Warren is doing that, encase him in ice. Again, if he breaks out. And again. And again. As long as you can do it. Maria--when Bobby has Marko wrapped up good and solid, resume your diamond form and take a good crack at him when he's in the ice. I'll hit him full-blast at that same moment. Hank--stay ready for anything. Move!"

Jean, reluctantly, walked to the entrance of the study. Warren got into the air and flew basic maneuvers around the Juggernaut, who grasped for him in vain. As he did so, Bobby started throwing everything he had at their foe. At first, Marko brushed Bobby's attack off. But as more and more ice surrounded him, the Juggernaut was forced to exert himself to smash the ice that kept gathering around him in ever-increasing density. His movements got more and more sluggish, as Bobby--giving it everything he had, Scott noticed with approval--wrapped him in ice so thick that his figure was blurred and obscured from their sight. His movement in the block of ice had almost ceased.

"Shift-- _now!_ " Maria Shifted into her diamond form, and threw an immensely powerful blow at the ice figure. The force of it shook the grounds of the Mansion. At that exact same instant, Scott unleashed the strongest optic blast he could ever remember. The combined effects of their assault produced an explosion that, as far as Scott could tell, rivaled a miniature atomic blast. There was a huge cloud of gas and dust and ice particles raining down on the garden. And when it was done--

\--When it was done, a dark figure stood in the middle of the carnage. The Juggernaut moved forward again, slowly. He paused in front of Shift and smiled.

"Nice try, kiddies," he said in an almost friendly tone of voice. "But I ain't kidding, when I tell you nothing can hurt me. Nothing can stop me."

Maria, still in diamond form, threw herself at him again. "You'll excuse us if we're slow learners!" she cried out, and hit Marko. Their bodies locked together for a moment, and Scott wondered how long Maria would be able to maintain that form--

\--And he cried in horror, as Maria Gianelli suddenly _cracked apart._ Juggernaut moved forward, and his sheer force shattered her diamond form into pieces. Behind him, Jean screamed, calling out Maria's name. Marko simply strode through the diamond fragments and advanced towards Cyclops.

"Kid--I'm getting tired of this," he said, his voice like a foghorn. "I'm sorry about the broad here, but she was in my way. I want Chuck. Don't make me hurt _you,_ too."

Jean hurried into the study. "Professor!" she cried out. "Are you all right? Maria! Is she dead?"

Professor Xavier smiled at Jean, and she felt herself calming down. No. She was an X-Man. They didn't panic. _He_   certainly was not panicking. "I'm fine, Jean," he said. "As for Maria--no, she is not dead. She shall Shift back to normal in a very few minutes, but even so, she has suffered extreme trauma. Perhaps as severe as she is capable of experiencing. I did not know her diamond form was capable of being shattered like that. It might be that she may never be able to Shift into it again--or at least, for a long time. I can't tell. But we must get to the South Wing. I must consult Cerebro."

Jean pushed the Professor's chair to the South Wing, and he entered the chamber where Cerebro was kept. He donned the helmet and looked grimly at Jean. "Perhaps I can get some aid," he said. "We need it, God knows. Well, I can only do my best."

"Professor!" Jean cried. "What about Magneto? He owes you a favor, after Mastermind. This is a good time to call it in, surely?"

He looked thoughtful. "I wonder," he said. "I wonder very much indeed..." He shut his eyes, and reached out his thoughts--

* * *

Eric Magnus Lehnsherr was doing something almost unknown to him--taking a early-summer nap. He had been working hard lately, and was pushing himself past his limit. He was creating a database on mutants that he was determined to rival Charles'. No, not rival-- _surpass._ He was as responsible for Cerebro as his old friend was. He did not accept secondary status. They would see who could best the other.

He came to with a start. A psychic summons. Charles! Instantly, he was wide-awake. _Yes? What is the matter, Charles?_

_We need aid, Eric. Now. Immediately. We are facing a foe of overwhelming power, and we have already had casualties. Can you help?_

It only took Magneto a second to consider his options. If he refused, their tacit truce--slowly ripening into alliance--would become moot. And--"casualties"? He realized--almost with astonishment--that he did not want the X-Men to be casualties. Particularly the Grey girl, whom he found himself more and more wondering about.

Irrelevant. _I'll be there in a very short time, Charles. I can't bring the Brotherhood._

 _No matter. Hurry, please._ Eric was already flying over Brooklyn towards Manhattan, and then north.

* * *

The Juggernaut moved forwards, and Scott heard a mental call from the Professor. _Scott! Try to loosen his helmet! If we can get that off, we have a chance!_   Scott frowned--what did Marko's _helmet_   have to do with anything? Well, his not to reason why-- He turned to Hank. "Beast! Try to loosen Juggernaut's helmet! Now!" Hank nodded grimly, and jumped onto Juggernaut's back.

"A gentleman always doffs his hat when entering a house, Juggy," he said breezily, trying to grab the helmet's eye slots and pull up. Marko didn't even seem to notice that he was there, just kept striding slowly up towards the front door of the Mansion. Finally Hank, with a supreme effort, seemed to loosen the helmet just a bit--

And screamed in pain, as the Juggernaut grabbed his two calves and squeezed. He brought Hank around to his front, and tossed him to the ground as if he was made of papier-mache. "Nice idea, kid," he said off-handedly. "You're _almost_   onto something. Too bad it's your _last_   idea." And Hank McCoy, rolling in pain, his calves ruptured, realized that he wouldn't be able to get out of Juggernaut's way in time, that he was about to die. But at that instant, a giant explosion immediately in front of Marko opened up a massive hole in the garden grounds, and Juggernaut fell into it. Cyclops had unleashed another optic blast, and it had been large enough to force Juggernaut down into the Earth. Bobby came up, and tossed layers of ice over the hole.

"Maybe this will keep him busy," Iceman said, as Scott looked to Hank. The latter was examining his lower legs. The muscles there had simply been crushed. Scott winced. The legs had ruptured, muscle and blood were oozing out of the ruptured area, and Hank was doing his best not to cry out. But the pain must be overwhelming.

"I can still walk on my damned feet," Hank said stolidly. "Don't worry about me, Scottie! That won't hold Marko forever. We need a plan for when he returns." He looked over, and saw Maria's diamond fragments littering the ground. "Oh, my God! Maria!" He seemed to go into shock. But at that moment, to the overwhelming relief of the others, Maria Shifted back into her normal form. She moaned, shivered, and just sat on the ground for a minute, trying to get herself together. She finally looked up at Scott.

"Juggernaut," she said simply. "Where is he?" And slowly got to her feet.

"He's down a large hole I created with my optic blasts," Scott said. "Bobby put ice over it. It won't hold him forever."

"No," Maria said with a sigh. "No, it won't." She looked at herself, as if checking to see if anything might be missing. "No--I seem to be intact. I wonder why? No matter. Well--got to get ready for Marko again. And again. And again, if need be. I can't let him take _me_ out." Then she saw Hank, and cried out and ran over to him. "Hank, oh my God, what happened?"

He smiled at her. "Well, love of my life, it appears with a fair degree of certainty that I've had my hams almost squashed flat. I'm afraid that I won't be walking for a long, long time. But as I've told Scottie--I can walk on my damned hands. He's not keeping _me_ out of this fight."

"The hell you say." Maria turned to Scott. "Can you talk some sense into this jerk?"

Scott shrugged. "If any of us are alive in fifteen minutes, Maria, I'll be glad to." He looked Maria in the eyes. "His helmet, Maria. You have to loosen it. The Professor says that's the only chance to beat him. You have to get in there down-and-dirty and get it off."

She smiled grimly. "Consider it done."

Scott turned to Warren. "Angel-- _you_ be ready, too. If Maria can loosen his helmet, you might have a chance to grab it." Warren nodded. Scott had never seen him--any of them--so grim. Suddenly, Bobby cried out.

"Scott--everybody! He's tunneling beneath the hole! He's crawling his way into the Mansion!" Scott, Maria and Warren ran towards the front door. Hank remained behind, looking frustrated and helpless. Just as they reached the front door, a blur of red light arrived on the garden lawn from the south. The blur stabilized, and the X-Men were astonished to see Magneto himself standing in front of them.

"Where is the enemy, Cyclops?" he said simply, and Scott realized--with astonishment and deep, deep relief--that Magneto was here as an _ally._ He smiled, and said: "Underneath the Mansion. He's tunneling his way through solid earth to get inside and attack the Professor." He then, in a few seconds, told Magneto who the enemy was, and what his powers were. Magneto nodded when Scott's recitation was over.

"I see. And the helmet--obviously, a psionic helmet. To ward off psychic attacks. Much like the one _I_   am wearing. Well, if we can get it off him, Charles will be more than a match for his step-brother." He turned to Iceman. "Where is Juggernaut now?"

Bobby sensed the movement beneath his feet. "He's about to come up into the main hall," he said. "I'd say within twenty seconds."

Magneto smiled. "Then let's prepare a reception for him." He and the X-Men entered the Mansion. Hank crawled to the entrance and waited, in case there was anything more he could do. As the X-Men and Magneto walked into the front hall, they heard a rumbling beneath their feet getting louder by the second. The Professor and Jean entered the hall from the South Wing. Magneto nodded to the Professor, and Scott saw the latter mentally brief Magneto in a fraction of a second.

"Be ready," the Professor said. "Cain is about to break out." And even as he spoke, the deep rumbling sound reached a crescendo and the hall floor cracked open. Slowly but surely, the Juggernaut emerged from underground and looked around him.

"Another one," he said, looking at Magneto. "Huh. Well, the more the merrier, Chuck. I wouldn't want you to make this too easy for me." He grunted, and looked harder at Magneto. "Not bad. Not bad at all. A magnetic attack, huh? Got news for you, fancypants. This gem I've got, bringing with it the power of Cyttorak--it makes me invulnerable to all your basic forces. Magnetism, gravity, electricity--none of 'em can do squat against me. It takes physical power. And you--none of you--can match me _there._ " He turned to the Professor. "Let's get it over with, Chuck. I've always wanted to kill you. _You_   know that. And thanks to the good graces of fate, here I am, with the ability to do it! How cool is _that!_ " And he turned slowly towards Charles Xavier again, and began to make his way towards him.

"Sir!" Jean called out. "Get out of here! Out the back way! I'll hold him off!"

"No, Jean," the Professor said quietly. "No more running away. This is it. This is where we stand or fall." He turned to Scott. "The helmet. Have you made any progress?"

Marko laughed. "Good, Chuck, good! So you've figured _that_   out, huh?" Scott was uneasy. Marko didn't seem intimidated by what they were planning.

"Hank loosened it a little, sir. He was badly injured." The Professor shook his head.

"Yes. Yes, I see that... Maria," he said calmly. "Remove his helmet."

"Yes, Professor," she said. Scott watched as she stretched her arms and grabbed the Juggernaut's helmet. Marko made no effort to resist her, just stood like a statue on the floor of the front hall and laughed. Finally, Maria squeezed, thrust her arms upwards--with the helmet in her hands. And everyone stopped dead.

"Oh, Chuck--" The Juggernaut laughed, a gloating laugh. "Just how dumb do you think I _am,_ anyway?" The Juggernaut was wearing _another_   helmet beneath the original--a second helmet! "I cannibalized this one from elements of the first. A double-whammy, you might say. You _really_ thought I was just gonna waltz in here, knowing what _you're_ capable of, with just one vulnerable helmet to ward off your ESP? _This_ one is tight. Real tight. And just as good protection against you as my first one was." He laughed, and that laugh shook the house. "To beat me, you have to _beat_   me, Chuck. To get _this_   helmet off, you have to pry it off my prone form. Let's see which of you bozos is gonna do that."

* * *

Maria almost sagged to her knees. She realized she was feeling something she had never experienced before--a total sense of weakness, even exhaustion. Reaching for Marko's helmet had almost been beyond her capacity. By God--was this what "shock" felt like? And her calves--she felt intense, shooting pains there. She almost laughed. By God, she was having sympathetic pains--mimicking Hank's injuries! Well, girl, to hell with this. You have things to do--

Juggernaut turned slowly to the Professor. "I'll do my best to make this quick, Chuck," he said almost jauntily. "Then I just walk away from here. And none of you--" He turned to the X-Men and Magneto-- "are gonna stop me. Not for a single second. Not for as much as a single step."

Maria saw Scott stride forward, purpose in every movement. "You're not going to do anything, Marko," he said. "X-Men--on my signal, attack."

"The helmet, Scott," Jean said. "Try and get that smaller helmet off. If we do that, we stand a chance."

"Of course, Jean. You try, too. With your TK."

"I have been, Scott. But it's on very tight. Still, I'll keep trying." Maria saw Jean wince with the effort, and Marko laughed.

"You do your best, little girl," he said. "Amuse me like this, and maybe I _won't_   kill the rest of you when I'm done with Chuck." He made one more step towards the Professor. "Still there, Chuck? I'd have thought you'd have bugged out in one of your X-copters or whatever. Just puttin' the day of judgment off, of course. I'd find you."

"No, Cain," the Professor said. "No, I am here, and here I remain. My students face their ultimate test here. They must, and shall, stop you. And I shall stand here with them." He looked at Magneto. "And with Eric. Thank you, my old friend. If I am to die here, I am glad to be in your company."

Magneto removed his helmet and smiled. " 'If the cause be just and honorable--' " he said, and Maria laughed to herself.

" 'We few, we happy few'," she said, heart suddenly singing. " 'We band of brothers'."

Marko looked confused. "What are you people yapping about, anyway?"

Magneto shrugged. "I fear, Mr Marko, that if we have to tell you, you'll never understand." He turned to Scott. "Cyclops--blast that damned helmet off his head!" Scott nodded, and directed a sharp, intense beam at Cain Marko's "inner" helmet. Marko blinked when it was over, but the helmet was undamaged.

"You guys are gonna have to do better than _that,_ " he said sarcastically. But Maria thought she saw some confusion, even doubt, in his posture, his voice. And she wasn't alone in noticing, either.

"Angel!" Scott cried out. "The helmet! Go for it!" Warren flew to the ceiling of the front hall and dived on Marko, flying almost faster than the eye could see. He reached Marko's head, put his hands on the helmet--

\--And cried out, as the Juggernaut grabbed his wings and squeezed, as he had previously done to Hank's legs. Warren fell to the floor, his wings twisted at an angle. Jean cried out Warren's name, and he looked up with a pained smile.

"I'm kinda caught in a tight spot here, Red," he said--and passed out. Jean scooped him up with her TK and got him out of harm's way, just as the Juggernaut reached down to finish him off. Marko laughed.

"Well, _that_   sure worked out well." He started again towards the Professor. "I'm wasting my time. Let's do this, Chuck. You know, I'm almost sorry it's come to this. But you deserve this. I hope you know that, as I squeeze the life out of you." He hurled an energy blast at the Professor, but Magneto threw up a magnetic shield that took the brunt of it. Immediately after, a massive boulder came hurling at Marko from outside the Mansion, smashing into him faster than the eyes could see. Marko staggered briefly, as the boulder exploded. Magneto--and it was he who sent the boulder at the Juggernaut in the first place--shielded the others from any debris. Marko shook his head, and looked at Magneto.

"Huh. Seems you're tougher than I thought at first. Nice move. Too bad it wasn't nice enough." He was only twenty feet from the Professor now, and took another step. Maria had seen enough. She charged him, and extended her hands again for his helmet. Marko paused, and extended his energy field at her. Maria was hurled back, landing flat on her back. She was barely able to roll over, get to her knees. _Dammit girl, stop this crap! They_ _need_ _you! Get up!_

Scott, meanwhile, shot another blast at the helmet while Bobby erected an ice wall in front of the Professor. Marko shook his head and gave Scott a deadly look.

"You're startin' to annoy me, boy," he said. "Like a mosquito would. I think I'll wait for Chuck a minute and swat _you_." He turned, almost kicked Maria in sheer contempt, and moved for Scott. Jean astonished everyone by standing in front of Scott and _hissing._

"Me first, Marko!"

"Jean! Get out of there!" Scott cried out, but Jean was having none of it. She grabbed for Marko's legs with her TK, and somewhat to Maria's surprise, bowled him over. Maria got to her knees and tried to keep her balance as she moved on Marko.

"Maria!" Jean cried out. "He's yours! Take him! Now!"

* * *

Jean Grey stood there, feeling invincible. The Juggernaut was moving on Scott. Therefore, she, Jean Grey, would overcome the Juggernaut. There was no conscious thought process involved; it was simply pure reaction. She was astonished by how easily she had been able to knock him off his feet. As Marko lay there on his back, trying to regain his balance, Jean cried out to Maria. "Maria! he's yours! Take him! Now!"

Maria had risen to her feet, and moved towards the Juggernaut. Bobby, too, was there, ready for any orders Scott gave him. Magneto, Jean saw, was trying still to remove the inner helmet, but finally shrugged.

"It is as Marko says," he said grimly. "I cannot directly affect him with my own powers. Anything I can do must be indirect."

"Just be ready," Scott said. "Try to make sure no one is hurt by any blasts, and secondly try to ensure that no more damage is done to the Mansion." Magneto nodded. Jean turned again to Maria. She had reached Marko, but Jean could tell that Shift was barely able to stay on her feet. A thrill of fear went through her. Maria--vulnerable! She hadn't thought that was possible. The shattering of her diamond state must have had traumatic effects on her normal body. But she was doing her best.

"Get him, Maria!" Jean called. "Anyone can do it when things are easy. It's times like _now_   that show what you're made of. Yes, you've been hurt. We all have been. Welcome to the club, you big freak! Now get that fucking helmet off his head!" She paused. Had _she_ used _that_   word? Scott looked at her a bit oddly, and Maria laughed. Then she extended her arms--slowly, infinitely carefully--but she did it. And just as she did, Scott sent one more optic blast at Marko's head, and Jean thought the helmet gave--just a little. She grabbed hold of it with her TK, and pulled and pulled. Yes--it _was_   giving!

Maria grabbed the edges of the helmet, just as Marko started getting to his knees. He pushed Maria back with his energy blast, and Maria fell again on her back. But she rolled over again, and just as Marko got to his feet, she did also and took yet another step towards him.

Marko scowled. "Kid--I _know_ that blasting that diamond form of yours to pieces has put you out of this fight. You're goin' on sheer balls right now, and I appreciate that, I really do. But there's no way in hell you can keep on your feet if I attack you again right now."

"Go ahead and see," Maria said, and strode towards him. Marko shrugged, and took a swing at her. It caught Maria right in the face, and she sagged to one knee. The Juggernaut stood over her, and started exuding his energy field. Maria put her hands over her eyes, her ears, cried out. Scott blasted Marko again, and the Juggernaut barely seemed to feel it. The energy emanating from him smashed Bobby's ice-shield, and they could see the Professor again, watching intently but saying nothing. But he must have been mentally speaking with Maria, because she got to her feet, muttering over and over again: "I won't let you down, sir. I won't let you down." And once more, she reached for the Juggernaut's inner helmet--

\--And this time, grabbed it. Marko cried out in pure rage, and tried to push her away with his energy field again. But Maria held on, held on as if the helmet were the dearest thing in her life and that nothing could get it out of her hands. Marko threw another punch at her, and she staggered to her knees again, but to Jean's astonishment her arms still extended up to the helmet, she was _not_   going to let go of it. Bobby made a huge ice club and smashed it into Marko's back, and he cried out again in rage.

"You little bastards!" he cried. "That does it! Once I'm through with Chuck, you _all_   go with him! I'm killing you all!" And he hit Maria again as she knelt, and Maria fell to the floor. But her arms were still extended, and she was still hanging onto the helmet. Jean saw a chance, and grabbed hold of the helmet with her TK for one more massive push. And at that moment Cain Marko screamed in rage and hate, and the helmet came apart in Maria Gianelli's hands. And Cain Marko stood there, head bare, hands in front of his face, sobbing his rage and frustration and hate out at the world.

" _NO!_ " he cried. "You can't beat me, Chuck! Not this time! Not again!" And he turned, a look of madness on his face, and staggered towards the Professor. Scott prepared to give Marko one more optic blast, but the Professor put up his hand and shook his head.

"No, Scott, that will not now be necessary." He turned his attention to Marko. "Cain--I truly regret that we could not have been brothers. Some of that was my doing. But you--! Cyttorak gives its power according to the ability of the recipient to use it. It does not change their character, just gives them new avenues to display it. And you have used it as might have been expected--cruelly, wantonly, with no thought of anything but your own revenge. That must end. It shall end. Now." And he looked hard at Cain Marko, who fell to the floor, victim of a psychic blast. To Jean's surprise, he got to his knees and still moved forward.

"No, Chuck," he said, gasping. "No! I've spent twelve years digging out of that damned mountain. Thinking every second what I'd do when I got my hands on you. This won't stop me, you won't stop me!"

The Professor sighed. "Nonsense, Cain. _I_   am master here now. I am not given to using my powers ostentatiously, but whatever it takes, you _will_   be stopped. _Now._ " And Jean sensed another psychic blast directed at Marko, and he fell, unconscious, to the floor of the hall. She shut her eyes, gave a short prayer of thanksgiving. It was over.


	58. A Mugging on Second Avenue

Chapter Fifty-eight

* * *

The aftermath was painful. Hank and Warren both sustained injuries serious enough for them to be hospitalized. Maria went with Hank, despite her own trauma. Magneto waited around and helped to remove some of the rubble that the battle had caused. Charles had a private word with his old friend and rival before he left.

"Thank you, Eric," he said. "The situation was dire."

Magneto shrugged. "For all the good I did. It was your students who won the day."

Charles shook his head. "No, Eric. You helped. And it was the very fact of your being here that really mattered."

"Perhaps so. It felt good to be at your side again. It has been too long."

"Agreed." And Eric was gone. Meanwhile, reports of the battle had reached the press, and Charles had to deal with the media. This wasted some of his time, and he also spoke with Fred Duncan at the FBI, reassuring them that Cain Marko was under sedation and in good hands. After a consultation with the White House and the NSA, the decision was made to leave Marko in the custody of the X-Men for the time being, subject to periodic reports on his condition.

Meanwhile, his three relatively unscathed students--Bobby, Scott and Jean--worked to fix the Mansion, and try to get some semblance of normality back in their lives. It wasn't easy. The damage had been extensive. Maria, when she returned from the hospital, was still suffering from the effects of the destruction of her diamond form. Charles talked it over with her.

"Sir--just what _did_ happen when Marko destroyed my diamond form? Could I have been killed? _Should_ I have been killed?"

Charles looked dissatisfied. "Maria--I am not sure I have any answers. My God! How often have I said _those_   words to you! I am finding it increasingly frustrating. But if you can Shift into _gas_ forms, for God's sake, and return to normal, I do not see why you shouldn't have been able to Shift back to normal after your diamond form was destroyed. The question is, can you Shift to the diamond at all now? Or is that form simply gone for good? Do you think you could Shift to it, if pressed?"

Maria looked unhappy. "Sir--I don't know! Honestly! Right now, I admit--I'm out of it. I would have checked into the hospital myself, if I thought they knew how the hell to treat me. I'm not sure I could Shift into _anything_ right now. Whatever being blasted to fragments, and somehow returning to normal, feels like, that's how _I'm_   feeling. But I'll get better. Nothing can hold _me_   down for long." But Charles felt the vulnerability beneath the tough facade. Maria had been seriously wounded, something he hadn't been sure was possible. Would she subconsciously flinch at adopting other Shift states? He doubted it, but one could never be sure. He'd have to observe her carefully. But his mental probes of the girl told him that she _was_   recovering physically, albeit slowly.

On the whole, Charles Xavier felt grateful. To have finally faced his biggest fear--Cain Marko--and have no fatalities. They had been lucky. Lucky--and good. The X-Men had once again justified his faith in them. He smiled to himself. Jean had almost turned into a lioness in front of everyone's eyes. He thought again of her life-long obsession with predation. He certainly hoped Scott knew what he had gotten himself into.

* * *

Scott, meanwhile, was counting their losses, as a good general should. Hank was out of action for at least eight weeks. The ruptures to his muscles had required surgery, and he would be hospitalized for a couple of weeks before coming back to the Mansion. Warren, in turn, had suffered serious damage to his wings that required surgery as well. The surgery had been performed by a veterinarian, much to the undisguised glee of both his teammates and the press. Maria and Jean had been spending time plotting in as much detail as possible just how they'd take advantage of _that_   delightful little fact. Scott sighed to himself. That was something he'd better stay out of.

He had talked to Jean the very evening of the battle. The upstairs of the Mansion was intact, and she had come to him, and they had made love with a passionate intensity he had never experienced before. Jean almost _did_   feel like a lioness or some great female cat in his arms, so primal was her response to him this night. Afterwards, they lay there, and Scott was finally able to bring up a sore subject.

"Jean--"

"Yes, Scott?"

"During the battle today."

"Yes?"

"You directly disobeyed me at one point."

Jean laughed out loud. "Yes, I did, didn't I?"

"Jean--I don't think it's funny. When Juggernaut came at me, you jumped in front of me. And ignored me when I told you to get out of the way."

"As well I should have. You weren't speaking then as Cyclops, Field Leader of the X-Men. You were speaking as Scott Summers, lover of Jean Grey. You let personal issues cloud your judgment. Scott--I was doing what I was _supposed_ to be doing then. At that moment, I was as battle-ready as I've ever been. I was in a _zone._ And as it turned out, I was instrumental in defeating Marko. No, I did the right thing."

Scott thought for a long time. "Jean..." he finally said.

"Hmmm?"

"You're right."

"Of course I'm right. Now hush. I'm going to sleep."

"You're staying here? Not returning to your own room?"

"No. Not tonight. Goodnight, darling."

"Good night, Jean." And they both slept the sleep of the dead until morning.

* * *

Wilson Fisk awaited his next appointment, somewhat impatiently. Things were not developing as he wished. And that was a state of affairs he never tolerated for long. But this time-- He shivered. Events might be too great for him to manipulate. He faced this possibility with distaste. He hated acknowledging there was _anything_   he could not arrange, somehow. But the Mutant Question--which meant, of course, the Sentinel Question--seemed to be slipping out of his control. It might be that the best he could expect was to cut his own losses as much as possible.

His buzzer sounded. About time. "Mr Fisk?" his secretary said. "Mr Drago is here." Fisk grunted, and the door opened. A man of about thirty-five, sleekly handsome with black hair and intense brown eyes, entered his office. Fisk sighed to himself. Blackie Drago was a useful thug. And when one had said that, one had said it all. He had his function, like all the tools Fisk manipulated.

"Mr Drago," he said. "What are this month's takings?" No preliminaries, no courtesies. Not for this man. Just get the business over, and get him out of here. But Drago looked nervous, even started sweating. Fisk stiffened slightly. There was something on Drago's mind. That was almost an oxymoron, but it was true. He raised his brows.

"Yes, Mr Drago?" Drago licked his lips, smiled almost apologetically.

"I do suppose I might as well get this over with," the thug said. And to Fisk's absolute astonishment, the man in front of him turned into-- _something else._ A quite different man, about thirty-five, lean, almost gaunt, with lanky white-blond hair. He shrugged at Fisk amiably.

"I _am_   sorry to discombobulate you like this, my dear Mr Fisk," the man said. "But I simply _had_ to get in to see you, and you'd hardly have made an appointment for _me._ " And the wretched little man made a gesture of complicity between them. Fisk scowled.

"You are the Changeling, are you not?" he said, his voice deadly calm, which should have been a warning to the other man. His visitor shrugged.

"I am," he said in a fluting voice. "I take it, Mr Fisk, you have heard of me?"

Fisk made a lightning decision not to waste any courtesies. "You are a mutant whore. You charge ten thousand dollars an hour to anyone who will pay that obscene price, to be whatever--whomever--they desire. Men, women. As clients and objects of fantasy. In your private existence--if I can call it that--you are possibly the most flagrant homosexual in the history of civilization. At this time, you are infiltrating Graydon Creed's Friends of Humanity on behalf of Charles Xavier and the X-Men, where you have come into contact with _my_ tool, Raven Darkholme. Who, incidentally, has brought me very little news of interest. What the hell do you want?"

The Changeling flickered his eyelids. "Oh, Mr Fisk--you _do_ know me, I must say..." He shook his head. "No, no we must get down to brass tacks. Indeed we must! Mr Fisk--Bolivar Trask has learned of Emma Frost's treason to Ned Buckman and the Hellfire Club. He knows she works for _you._ And he has given poor Raven--in her guise as dear Graydon, of course--well, what can only be called a _contract._ To _kill_   Miss Frost. He says it must be done within forty-eight hours. And of course, Raven is at her wit's _end._ We decided to consult _you._ Raven herself fears that _she_ might be under suspicion, which is why _I_ have braved the dangers we face to bring you the news. What are we to _do,_ Mr Fisk?"

Fisk sat there, having an emotion he rarely experienced--indecision. Emma's exposure was a hazard of the game. It was always possible. But if Raven had been ordered to kill Frost--using Creed's so-called Friends of Humanity, his miserable Brownshirts--than Fisk was caught in a dilemma. If he interceded and saved Emma, Trask would probably try again. And again. So would the Hellfire Club. And "Creed's" failure would bring him, quite likely, under suspicion. After all--Raven _was_   his mother. Trask and Company would be idiots if eventually the possibility of Raven impersonating her son didn't at least occur to them. That was one horn of the dilemma.

The other horn--Fisk did not intercede. Either Raven, then, would follow Trask's orders, or she would not. If not, then suspicion _would_   fall on her, immediately. She probably would be killed. And if Raven _did_ carry out the order, then Fisk would keep Raven as a tool--but at the cost of losing Emma. Time was tight. Perhaps he could have Emma flee the country, but that would be suspicious, too, and probably only postpone the day of reckoning. Fisk did not see any way he could keep both of them, with no suspicion falling on Raven. Very well. Which of them was expendable?

The question of loyalty did not enter his head. Wilson Fisk could appreciate loyalty, in some Platonic sense. But when his interests were threatened, loyalty could cost him money, and endanger his position. Such was the case now. No, this was purely a business decision. Which of the two mutants could he most afford to sacrifice?

And putting it like that, the question answered itself. Emma Frost was a useful tool. But he could infiltrate the Hellfire Club anytime he needed to. And as for having a telepath-- He shook his head. Having Raven was much more useful to him. Even without her current position at the heart of the Friends of Humanity. Adding _that_ to the mix-- There was no doubt about his decision. None at all. Emma Frost was expendable. Raven was not.

He glared at this freak. "Changeling--Raven is to follow Trask's orders to the letter. You tell her that. Have her send some of the Friends to deal with Emma Frost. I want it done within twenty-four hours. You _tell_ her that."

The Changeling's eyes got as round as saucers. "Oh, my!" he said, giggling slightly. "Isn't that just a wee bit hard on our Miss Frost, Mr Fisk?"

"However it is, it is no concern of _yours,_ little man. Take the message back, and just maybe _you'll_   survive. Otherwise--"

The Changeling got to his feet. "Oh, my! _I've_   been threatend? Who could have imagined it! I must say, it's positively _just_   as thrilling as I would have imagined it to be--" He blanched, seeing the look on Fisk's face.

"It shall be as you say, Mr Fisk," the Changeling said, getting up and leaving the office hastily--once more as "Drago". Fisk leaned back, eyes shut tight. This wasn't something he enjoyed, but it was necessary. And at least when it came to business, he didn't have a sentimental bone in his body.

* * *

Raven looked unbelievingly at the Changeling--who, for once, was not being arch or playing games. "He said _what?_ "

"Kill her," he said, paler than usual. "At once. Just as Trask says."

Raven starting shaking. She was no sentimentalist. She had had a long life, and once or twice she had killed. But always to save her own life. In self-defense. This, though--murder, in cold blood! And a fellow-mutant, yet! Then she saw the Changeling's face, and suddenly realized what he was trying to tell her. _God._ This, too, was "self-defense". It was Frost or her. Fisk had defined matters exactly. She thought for a second she was going to be sick.

"You have these God-forsaken 'Friends'," the Changeling said earnestly. "For heaven's sake, Raven, use them! Now! Before it's too late! They'd be only _too_   delighted with the killing of a mutant."

"A telepath?" Raven said, almost snarling. "And just how do we get them close enough to do it, Brucie-boy? She'll know something is afoot if they get within a hundred yards of her."

The Changeling started; he hadn't seemed to consider that. Then a strange expression came over his face, and he looked significantly at her. And kept looking, with that same expression. Raven was puzzled at first, then slowly shook her head.

"No," she said. "Oh, _no._ You're out of your mind."

"Raven," he said, and she could hear the sorrow in his voice, "it _has_   to be you. _You_   can get close to her. _You_ have decades of experience in morph states. _You_   know how to fool a telepath. Don't insult us both by denying it."

She did start to shake then, and to her astonishment the Changeling took her in his arms and kissed her, quite chastely, on the cheek. "Graydon Creed" collapsed into his arms. Raven sobbed for a long time, then disengaged herself and nodded.

"Yes," she said softly. "Yes, I know how to fool a telepath, my friend. I've done it once or twice. For long enough. Oh, God."

"It _is_ her--or you. Or _us._ I don't believe Mr Fisk would tolerate _me_   under those circumstances."

"No," Raven said dully. "No, I don't suppose he would." She got up. "I need time to think. I need time to reflect. I need time to plan." She paused. "I need time to pray for my soul."

The Changeling, changing to "Janice", nodded. "Of course. My friend." And walked out of the office.

* * *

Emma Frost left the Hellfire Club feeling exasperated. It was a hot night, and she did not like hot weather. Shaw was not in the mood for--dalliance, she supposed she'd call it. Lourdes was in town, and he had eyes only for her whenever that unfortunate situation was the case. Pierce had been getting more and more distant in recent months, and Harry Leland was a fat pig whom she didn't give the time of day to. No, Sebastian was a _man._ One, moreover, who fit her value system. She sighed. She had other friends. Other men. Even a lady friend or two. She'd call one of them pretty soon. But she had to walk her frustrations out of her system first.

 _Fisk._ When the hell was _he_   going to get in touch again? She felt cut off, out of the loop, and she didn't like it. She had betrayed Shaw for Fisk's sake, and now the fat man didn't seem to have any need of her! If only she dared to try to enter Fisk's mind. But he would know. Somehow, he would know. _That_   possibility was too dangerous to even consider.

Emma walked down Second Avenue, in the hot evening, heading north towards the theater district. It had been a long time since she had seen a Broadway show. Who could she get to accompany her? She went though her acquaintances, riffling through them mentally like a deck of cards. _Michael._ Such a dear man. A bit old, but _very_   generous. And so grateful, for those absurd little trifles of affection she threw him whenever they got together. _He_ loved the theater...

As she walked, Emma didn't notice a beggar on the other side of the Avenue. Didn't notice him crossing at Thirty-Seventh Street, ahead of her, and setting up for business a half-block in front. She never gave beggars a second look. Or even a first one. She approached, and--still thinking about how absurdly generous Michael was for the slightest bit of affection thrown his way--didn't seem to notice that the street was deserted right then. Except for her--and the beggar. She approached him...

...And fell to the sidewalk, gasping for breath. The beggar looked her in the eyes, and Emma saw a red glow in those eyes as he withdrew the knife that he had just stabbed her with. Stabbed her in the heart. She had no time to panic, no time for anything but shock, astonishment, as she hit the sidewalk. She vaguely heard--as from a great distance--the beggar move away, and Emma Frost's consciousness left her body. The last thing she experienced was a memory of childhood--of the house in Brookline as a little girl--as Daddy came home, everything would be all right, Daddy was home--

\--And then the Universe turned black--

* * *

The death of Emma Frost was not Page One news. A young socialite, killed by a mugger on Second Avenue? It was reserved for Page Three. It got about fifteen seconds of play on the evening news. But compared to Kitty Genovese, or the Boston Strangler, it made its relatively small splash, and disappeared from public consciousness. Except for a few people who had a special interest.

Charles Xavier was one of those. He saw the story in the _Bugle,_ and the paper dropped to the floor. He put his hands over his face, and felt an almost physical stab of pain. Emma Frost, whatever her faults, had been a fellow mutant. She had come to him to express concern. She had been frightened. And now, she had been killed. _Because_   she was a mutant. Charles had no doubts about _that_   whatsoever. This was no random "mugging". No, this had been carefully arranged. The only question was--who? Who had ordered this? Graydon Creed? Bolivar Trask? Her fellow members of the Hellfire Club? Or someone else entirely? Whoever it was, Charles Xavier was determined to bring them to justice.

He was so wrapped up in his thoughts that he didn't see the shadow over him. He looked up. Jean stood there, a look of sorrow on her face. "I'm so sorry, Professor. I 'heard' you call out mentally. Something was wrong..." She picked the paper up. "I'm _so_   sorry. And I feel so guilty, when I think of how I reacted to her visit--"

Charles took her hand and squeezed it. "No, Jean. We can't think about that. We don't owe the dead our apologies. But we _do_ owe them justice. Please--get the limousine ready. And get Scott ready to drive the three of us into the city. I want to see where the killing took place."

Jean nodded. "Of course, Professor." An hour later, the limousine was parked near the corner of Thirty-Seventh Street and Second Avenue. Charles, sighing, had to "convince" another motorist to abandon his own plans for parking there. Scott put change in the meter, and they exited the car, his wheelchair being unfolded and Jean carefully placing him in it with her TK. They walked to a spot where there was a line of tape and a small sign saying "Police Barrier". There were one or two gawkers there, and as the three mutants approached one of the onlookers recognized them. He whispered to his companion, and they slowly withdrew from the scene, much to Charles' relief. He wheeled right up to the barrier and concentrated hard on the scene. Some dried blood was still on the sidewalk. She had walked this way, going north. A mugger had approached her--

 _No._ No, it had not been that way. Rather, someone had been in wait here. Charles realized _that_   with crystal clarity. He looked around him, thought, felt mental impressions. He staggered. For an instant, he sensed Emma's dying impressions. Odd--they had been _pleasant_   ones. Something about her father... But before that--the pain, the shock, the total surprise, of the assault. There had been a--beggar?

Again-- _No._ It had been made to _appear_ that it was a beggar. But it was not. Someone--disguised?--as a beggar... He shook his head. He could get no more from this place. He felt lucky that he had gotten as much as he had. He looked up and saw Scott and Jean looking oddly at him.

"Are you all right, sir?" Scott asked. Charles Xavier shook his head.

"No, Scott. No, I am most definitely _not_   all right. I am as angry as I can ever remember being in my entire life. Emma Frost was a cold and manipulative woman, who was not in any sense our friend or ally. But she was a mutant. And she was killed because of that. It is up to _us_ to avenge her."

"You don't think the police will solve this case, then?" Scott said.

"I don't think, Scott--I _know._ This whole business was carefully stage-managed. The police will look for a mugger. They shall not find him."

Jean was looking steadily at the sidewalk. "Then you received some information when you examined this spot, sir?"

"I believe so, Jean. Enough to make a start. I must think more upon the matter. Come--let us get away from here. We have seen enough. Let us go home."

* * *

"My dear Sebastian--what can I say? I'm stunned, just _stunned._ " Ned Buckman put his hand on Sebastian Shaw's shoulder, his sympathy etched in every frame of his face. Shaw just shook his head, over and over.

"A mugger. A _mugger._ Do you believe it, Ned?"

Buckman looked dubious. "Well, these things _do_   happen." A thought seemed to come to him. "But Sebastian--had it been something more sinister, then surely she would have sensed it mentally long before it came upon her? Whereas a simple mugging--that could have happened so fast- _-did_   happen so fast--there wouldn't have even been time for her _to_   do anything."

Shaw shut his eyes. The pain was so intense-- He nodded. "Yes, Ned. Yes, what you say makes sense." Buckman gave him some more commiserations, and departed. Shaw went into the living room of his apartment. There, Harry Leland, Lourdes, and Donald Pierce were congregated. Pierce had been drinking heavily.

"Well, well, well," he said, raising an empty glass. "One of us gone. Who would have thought it would be Emma?" He peered at Harry. "I'd have thought it'd be _you,_ dear old Leland-land-land. That old blood pressure of yours..."

"Shut up, Pierce," Shaw said. "Emma _is_ gone. Is there anyone here who thinks it _wasn't_ a mugging?"

Leland shrugged. "Damned if I know, dear boy. The timing certainly seems--odd. But these days, with the streets as they are--" He shook his head.

Pierce raised his empty glass. "To--N'Yak! To our wonderful streets! To Progress! To Peace! To The Bronx--which is up--and the Battery--which is down! To--to--" He stopped, and couldn't think of anything else to "toast". Shrugging, the glass fell to the carpeted floor.

Lourdes' face was grim. "Sebastian--Emma and I were not the greatest of friends, as you know well. But I most certainly do _not_   believe this was a simple mugging. No, Sebastian--this was murder, made to _look_ like a mugging. One very deliberately planned, to hide the perpetrator from Emma's psychic powers."

Shaw looked disturbed. "Why do you think so, Lourdes?"

"Bah! You Americans! You are all so naive! There are no 'accidents'. Emma--a mutant? When the forces of anti-mutant hysteria are growing, ready to strike? An 'accident'?" Lourdes shook her head vigorously. "My God--you Americans have even convinced yourselves, somehow, that Kennedy's death was an accident! A 'lone nut'! None of you has the slightest idea of how the world works!"

Sebastian Shaw sat down in a chair, feeling very unhappy indeed. "I believe we shall operate on the assumption that this was _not_   a simple mugging," he finally said. "But where does that leave us?" He felt exceptionally unsure of his ground, which surprised him. He usually knew exactly what he wanted to do. The other three had no concrete suggestions. Lourdes merely advised him to keep his cards close to his chest for now. Pierce was too drunk to even be lucid. Harry, meanwhile, merely shrugged and said that he was glad it was Shaw's problem, not his.

The impromptu wake broke up soon, even Lourdes leaving. Shaw wanted to be alone. He thought long and hard. He finally decided to level with the one man he most trusted--Ned Buckman. _He_ would know what steps they ought to take next. He was always so candid with Sebastian, always so honest about the real issues, the obstacles the mutants faced, in the Hellfire Club and out of it, too. Tomorrow, he would talk to Ned, and the situation would be clarified. His mind a little more at rest, Shaw tried to get to sleep.

* * *

Marr-Vell, Captain in the Kree Navy, entered his apartment on east 77th Street in Manhattan with a bulging briefcase. Within were books, magazines, mimeographed pages from the local library. He sighed as he sank into a chair in his living room. This world, much to his amazement, had reached the point of primitive computers. But nothing approaching an internet, as yet. Research was done with absurdly primitive tools--almost on the level of beating drums. _Mimeographed pages! By Hala!_

He started going through the magazines first. Seeking information--any information--concerning this world's mutants. There was a surprising amount of it, from public sources. He was amazed to discover just how little information was censored on this world. At least in this nation-state. He chuckled, as he always did thinking of the sheer crudity of a world with competing "nations"--a development civilized worlds had abandoned so long ago no one was really sure when. And Earth's nations were exceptionally colorful, even by the standards of Earth's development. The so-called "Soviet Union" had a philosophy so bizarre that Marr-Vell could scarcely understand even its simplest postulates. Dialectical materialism? The inevitable triumph of something called "socialism" via a final revolution? Why on Hala should the so-called "dialectic" end _then,_ anyway? Wouldn't history just go on, as it was wont to do, creating new "dialectics" and new revolutions? He finally came to the conclusion that all this was thinly disguised religious millenialism, and that it would pass sooner or later.

Meanwhile, the nation _he_   was in seemed hardly saner. It worshipped something called "capitalism", which did not exist in the real Universe any more than "socialism" did. Civilized peoples simply did not permit the whole business of supply and demand to dominate their societies. It was a crude necessity--like elimination of bodily wastes. But to build _that_ into a philosophy of society! The Soviet Union was almost sane by comparison. It did, however, give this nation a dynamic that was startling, if one came from a higher civilization like the Kree--but an older, more stable one, too. Things did not change there. In this nation, things changed quickly. They erased everything every twenty years and started all over. And _that_   was something that any civilized people--Kree, Shi'ar, Skrull, whomever--would look on at, aghast. But Marr-Vell had to admit, actually _being_   here--and in this city, the heart of this anarchic madness--was a bracing experience.

 _Be careful, Captain. You're going native._ The thought made him laugh, and he got back to his reading. The English language--uninflected, no genders, but a tricky vocabulary--was relatively easy to master. He admired its flexibility, though of course it lacked the subtlety of Kree. He wished he could have the time to study Chinese. _There,_ he was certain, was this world's most civilized tongue. Alas, China itself seemed to be undergoing convulsions even worse than the other major nations. No matter... Marr-Vell read all he could of the mutants in the magazines he had amassed. Ronan had instructed him to discover, above all, how the mutants got along with the predominant humans. If mutants were so infernally important, then the question presented itself-- _how_ did the humans respond to this? Did _they_ know anything? Did they recognize what was at stake? And, too--did mutants have a culture of their own? Did _they_   write, publish, proselytize?

Two hours later, he sighed as he finished the pile of magazines. It had been, as far as he could tell, wasted effort. "Mutant culture" seemed to consist of little more than threats uttered by the one called Magneto. And even these had diminished in number in recent months. The mutants everyone knew about were the so-called "X-Men". They had revealed their identities to the world several months ago, and as far as Marr-Vell could tell, the chief public reaction had been a lurid interest in the X-Men's private lives. Especially two of them--a red-haired girl and a blond young man with wings. The sheer shallowness of this stunned him. Oh, here and there there were serious attempts at discussing just what it all _meant._ But these were small-circulation publications, read by only a few. For the average human, Jean Grey and Warren Worthington were noticed mainly for their sex appeal.

Marr-Vell tossed a magazine down in sheer disgust. What was one to do with a people like this, anyway? Did the Supremor have the slightest idea what this world was _like?_   How could _these_ people be any ultimate threat to the Kree, for God's sake? There had been an attempt a few months ago, he saw with interest, to arouse hatred against mutants. Even against the X-Men, even against Jean Grey and Warren Worthington. And it had failed signally. The people were too enamored of their front-page heroes. Was this actually a sort of sanity? A defense against bigotry so low-level that its sheer disingenuity made it work? There was a mutant on the X-Men who did _not_ look "human". She was named Shift, and surely, if anywhere, _here_   was a handy target for anti-mutant prejudice. But in actuality, she was perhaps the most popular of all. Great interest in _her_   private life was widespread, too, especially as she and another X-Man had recently announced their engagement. There was considerable speculation in the details of her sexual life. _Great Hala--!_

But Marr-Vell, despite all this, did not feel that humans were comfortable or secure about mutants in their midst. While the anti-mutant campaign had failed, he felt that that had been because of circumstances, not because humans weren't receptive to it on some level. If things changed for the worse, he could imagine the atmosphere ripe for pogroms. He sighed. In Earth's very recent past, six million "Jews"--members of a religious minority--had been butchered by a lunatic for no apparent reason at all. No, this world was far from sane. Anti-mutant hatred was in remission, but it was not cured. Not by any means.

He looked at his watch. _Time to report._ He picked up his uniwave transmitter, and punched in the numbers to Ronan's ship, circling the Sun in the asteroid belt. The signal, transcending the speed of light, reached the Accuser instantaneously. Ronan's response was also immediate.

"Marr-Vell," the Accuser said, his face on the screen blank and cautious. "What have you learned today?"

"Nothing, Lord, that I did not learn yesterday. Or the day before. More magazines. More rubbish. Almost nothing in the nature of serious discussion--and what there is of _that_   is not what I should call on a very elevated level." He shook his head. "Lord--I have learned nothing about what the Supremor has sent us to Earth to discern. No one on this miserable planet has the slightest notion about any 'cosmic destiny'. They scarcely know the larger universe exists, except for a few minor Skrull incursions that half the planet seems to regard as hoaxes and delusions."

"You are not suggesting, I hope, Captain, that the Supremor is mistaken in his analysis of the situation?" There might have been a hint of dry humor in Ronan's voice as he spoke these words. Marr-Vell was not inclined to act upon that assumption.

"Of course not, Lord. I say only that I, so far, have not been able to discover any basis for it. But I am only one man, and limited in my perceptions."

"Indeed," the Accuser said tightly. "Very well. What you are doing has not worked so far. You must go further. You must try another tact."

"Oh, Lord? What have you in mind?"

Ronan looked steadily at Marr-Vell. "You must make personal investigations. You must approach these so-called 'X-Men' yourself, Captain. Think of a reason. You are a Kree officer, after all. Use your ingenuity."

Marr-Vell considered this. "Should I simply attack them as a foe would, Lord? Learn of them in _that_   manner?"

Ronan considered this. "No," he finally said. "You would learn some useful things, yes. But that is too haphazard. We have been _too_   haphazard as it is. No, think of a way to approach them as an ally. In a way that will make them take you into their confidence. This should not be beyond your capabilities."

"No, Lord." Ronan nodded, and cut off communication. Marr-Vell sighed, and leaned back in the chair. Approach them. Have them take him into their confidence. Very well. This mission, having begun as a research expedition, was now an infiltration one. He had had experience of _that._ He would think of something.


	59. Converging Forces

Chapter Fifty-nine

* * *

Jean Grey walked up the stairs, feeling exhausted. They had all just finished a particularly strenuous Danger Room session, and she was going to rest a few minutes before the afternoon lecture. Dr Pym was going to discuss the relationship between Pym Particles and mutant morphing states. Jean was interested in the topic, including the basic fact of there _being_   a relationship between the two at all. But if anyone on earth knew what he was talking about on this score, Hank Pym did. And they could ask him what he and Janet had been doing since they left the Avengers. Meanwhile, Jean hoped to get ten minutes or so blessed release. Not a nap--certainly not!, she thought sternly to herself--but just a resting of her weary muscles...

She stopped outside her door. What was _that?_   She listened closely, and yes, there was no doubt about it--inside her room--

\--The sound of a cat. A big one. Breathing heavily.

Jean blinked. Maybe she had dozed off after all, and was having a very strange little dream. Well, there was only one way to find out. She cautiously opened her door-- On her bed, curled up almost like a rug, was a lioness. Who looked at her with undisguised interest as Jean slowly entered the room, eyes open, feeling beyond astonishment. The lioness gave a gentle roar, then let loose with a cry that would have scared Tarzan out of seven years growth. Jean felt the hair on her scalp tingle, and she wouldn't have been surprised if it had stood up on end, towards the ceiling. She blinked. This _wasn't_ a dream. But it couldn't be happening, either. Was it Mastermind, she wondered for a second? But why?

"All right," she said, speaking to the Universe in general and hoping she sounded reasonable. "Why is there a lioness in my bed?" She looked carefully at the great cat, standing her ground, ready to defend herself with her TK but not permitting herself to feel panic, either. "What on earth are you _doing_ here?" she asked, almost in irritation.

"And where else should I be?" the lioness answered in a comic Yiddish accent. "Africa? The Bronx Zoo? Why _not_ here, anyway, Jeanchik?" And it curled up a bit tighter, licking its paws as if Jean's presence was an irrelevance. Jean shut her eyes, and slowly the light dawned on her. _Oh, my God._ She slowly opened her bureau drawers with her TK, and with a rush she hurled all the contents of them at the "lioness".

Who laughed, in a very normal way, and Shifted back to Maria Gianelli, and Jean could hear laughter exploding from the hall behind her, and she turned and yes, there they were--Bobby, Scott, even Warren, just returned today from the hospital, his wings still swathed in bandages. Only McCoy was absent to witness her humiliation. Well, she thought unreasonably, she'd get _him_ later. Meanwhile--

Clothes from her room were tossed at the boys, and she directed them with the certainty and skill of a veteran general. Scott, needless to say, came in for the lion's--no, _lioness's--_ share of her wrath. Not that Bobby escaped, either. Warren she was almost gentle with, considering his condition. She merely tossed a few odd panties in his general direction, and stopped only because she wasn't sure how he'd take _that._ Scott, however, escaped nothing, and then Jean realized that she wasn't saving anything for Maria, who after all deserved the worst punishment, so she turned into her room and pummeled Maria with pillows, and all four of them were at her mercy, and she finally had to stop because she was laughing too hard to continue.

She collapsed on the bed next to Maria, who gave her a bear hug, and she finally was able to wipe her eyes and look at the three miscreants, standing by the entrance to her room. "And just whose bright idea was _this?_ " she said in a deadly voice to Scott. He smiled diffidently.

"I do believe I can claim the--ahem--lion's share of the credit," he said. "You've been prowling around thinking of yourself as a lioness. Maybe--just _maybe-_ -you've been taking this analogy a wee bit too seriously. I recruited Maria--"

"--Who's been kicking herself for not thinking of it first," the miserable freak said cheerfully.

"--Indeed. Bobby, then Warren, threw in with our plans, naturally. We didn't feel it necessary to burden the Professor. He has enough on his plate as it is. All throughout the Danger Room session, the tension grew. Finally, we struck." There was an extremely complacent smile on his face, Jean thought. Let it stay there. Tonight--tonight--she would wipe it off. She tried to make the smile she directed at him indicate this, and she thought she succeeded in her purpose, as Scott went a little pale. She turned to Maria.

"Well, you got me good. I almost forgot you could do that. Forgot you could Shift into damned well anything."

"Never forget," Maria answered. " _I_   sure don't. You never know when you're going to get it." She turned to the boys. "That goes for all of _you,_ by the way. I have my eyes on all of you."

Bobby smiled. "Well, I'll keep _my_ eyes open." He shrugged. "Is the show over?"

"Unless Jean is going to give us a second act," Scott said. Jean shook her head.

"Not now. Not right now. But there will be revenge, believe me." _Especially for_ _you_ _, Scott Summers._

"We've been warned," Warren said cheerfully, and he, Bobby, and Scott walked off towards the boy's wing. Maria stood up.

"Here, Red--let me help you with all this stuff--"

Jean gathered every piece of clothing into a giant ball and hurled it at Maria. "I can handle this just fine, thank you."

Maria put her hands up in a gesture of surrender. "OK, OK! I guess I'm gonna get it, then?"

"When you least expect it."

"Promises, promises." Maria left, and Jean was left looking dolefully at the wreckage of a perfectly good room.

* * *

In the Berkshires, a certain figure leaned back in a rocking chair in its living room and took some deep breaths. _They have survived Marko. I figured they would, but it is a relief all the same. Magneto aiding them! A good sign. Magnus is still slowly losing his hold over the Brotherhood--especially Wanda and Pietro. But this is now a natural, organic process. Let it come._

The figure reached over to a small table by the rocking chair. On it was a three-dimensional holographic photograph showing a middle-aged woman in a green costume receiving an alien, evolved from a bird race. The alien was dressed formally, and was kneeling at the woman's feet. The woman was doing something that might almost be interpreted as blessing the alien creature. There was a legend at the bottom of the photograph that said: "Phoenix receiving the Shi'ar Ambassador, The Mansion, May 23, 2005." Near the two main figures were a number of others. Scott was there, and Rachel, and Ororo, and Charles, and Eric, and En Sabah Nur, and Essex, and Henry, and Maria, and young Jean, and Warren, and Robert, and Logan, and Betsy, and Katherine, and others as well. Off to the side, the President was there, and the Pope. The Kree and Skrull Ambassadors were there. TV camera crews were recording the moment, and other journalists, and a crowd was in the background.

A sigh escaped from the figure. _That was--is--always a major event. The Universe showing homage. But so much had to happen before it all came to pass--! Death. So much death. And so much life. Jean became the Phoenix, and had to enter the Crystal, in 1968. And had to die, also in 1968. And be reborn, in 1970. And die again, in 1974. The mutants were decimated by Wanda in 1975. Utopia was established in 1976. And it came crashing down, a couple of years later. The mutants were reborn. And all that of course was only the start. What came later was almost beyond description. Yet--life happened, too. Rachel was born. Maria was finally able to embrace her humanity, and Jean McCoy was born. And Maria got old. Oh yes, she got old._

The figure stood up, and went to the front hall. It looked at the photos arrayed, and finally came to one. It showed two aging women, about sixty-five, but withal still beautiful. One had gray hair down to her shoulders, and wore the costume of Phoenix. The other was taller, larger, had gray hair that also came to her shoulders but one knew instinctively that _her_ hair had originally been black, while the other's had been red. Their arms were around each other's shoulders, and they had a look of intimacy and understanding that only a lifetime of deep friendship can bring with it. The legend said: "Jean and Maria, April 18, 2012". _The last time I was ever photographed with Jean. I embarked upon my mission the next week. It was all part of the process of saying good-bye._

The figure looked around the hall and shouted to the world: "It's been worth it! No matter the sacrifice, no matter if I succeed or fail! I have no regrets!" Her voice echoed in the large hall, and she felt the ambiguity in her words. She had finally managed to become "human". She could assume her "human" form, and Shift only when she needed to. She would age. She would die. That thought made her shiver. If she hadn't found out--! She would never forget when the Professor told her, on her 20th birthday, that she would reach a plateau--and _quit aging._ That she would essentially Shift herself into perpetual youth. But at the cost of being that figure--her "normal" Shift form--forever. It seemed to Maria Gianelli McCoy, standing in the front hall of her house in the Berkshires, that that had been a sentencing to Hell. She had fled out into the wild again for weeks, reliving her Torches and Pitchforks days until Jean found her and brought her back. It was only Jean's love that saved her sanity then. In the years since--

Maria sighed. Jean's love had saved them all, more than once. And Maria's love for _her_   had saved Jean, more than once. And in the end, it had all been enough. It had not been in vain, and the X-Men had not been in vain, and human history--cosmic history--had been able to begin. And she--Maria--had been able to live _her_   life. And know she was going to die. And bear fruit.

 _Jean._ Her daughter. Whom she would never see again. Nor Hank. Nor Jean, Scott, any of them. She had willingly chosen exile. For good and sufficient reasons. She had been here for over a year, and she had made a difference. To von Doom. To Magnus. To Essex. All of that was important. But her real mission-- She shrugged her shoulders, and went into the computer room. _That_   was still up in the air. She _had_   to succeed, or even now, it could all still be in vain. Even now. She had to safeguard the way Time had to be. Save it from all its...eccentricities. Well, she had computers and other machines that no one in this 1965 could comprehend. She had already confounded von Doom himself. She would be able to win through. She _had_ to. The thought of what happened _then_ did not concern her. Whatever would be, would be. Her future, her real life, was closed off forever. So be it. And only _she,_ Maria Gianelli McCoy, could have been sent. Jean herself had told her so, though she had tears in her eyes as she did. After everything, final parting... It was as bitter as death. Jean Grey. Jean McCoy. Hank McCoy--

 _No._ No, she had tortured herself too much. She had grieved, as if they _were_   dead. She must now safeguard them. And she would. She had told them originally that she did not give her loyalty lightly. And that she did not believe in half-measures when it came to protecting those she loved. And she was showing it with this ultimate sacrifice. _I won't fail you._

* * *

Jean looked at the dresses she, Maria, and Stevie Hunter were going to wear for their performance. Light blue, just above knee length, good and tight and form-fitting...perfect, she thought with satisfaction. She looked around. Maria was in her room, hopefully throwing up from nervous prostration about the ordeal to come. Jean was by no means through with her revenge over the Great Lioness Incident. Scott, she thought with satisfaction, had had _his_ wagon fixed. Oh boy, had he. He would never think of her TK powers in quite the same way again. But Maria had to have _her_   face--such as it was!--rubbed in reality.

"Jean?" Stevie peeked into her bedroom, and took a look at the dresses. "I guess it's time to get into costume, huh?"

"Guess so," Jean said, telekinetically sending one of the dresses to her friend and teacher. "Here's yours. We've rehearsed enough. Are you all set?"

"I guess so, girl," Stevie said. "But Maria is pretty quiet--seems a little subdued. She OK?"

Jean smiled--mysteriously, she hoped. Then she remembered what Maria said: that every time she tried to seem mysterious, or like a Femme Fatale, it just made her look cuter. Disgusting. She made a face, then nodded. Stevie shrugged and left her room to get dressed. Maria appeared a few moments later.

"I'm ready, Jean," she said, in a suitably somber tone. Well, as much as one could tell from her so-called voice. "Got my dress?"

Jean sent it to her via TK express. Maria took it and glared at her friend.

"This dress looks pretty tight, Jean," she said hesitantly. Jean cocked an eyebrow at her.

"Yes? And your point is...?"

"Well--you and Stevie are both glamor girls, with good figures. These look natural on _you_   two. I'm not exactly a glamor girl."

"Oh? Would you rather go on in your Lioness form? Because believe me, Miss Gianelli, _that_ could be arranged."

Maria laughed. "Oh boy, you aren't going to let me hear the end of that, are you?"

"I most certainly am _not,_ Maria Gianelli. That roar! Followed by a Yiddish accent! Is _that_   what you think of me?"

Maria frowned. "I don't get _that_   at all."

"If I have to explain, you'll never understand." She made a shooing gesture with her hand. "Go on, go on! Don't stand there like a lump. Get ready!" Maria made a mock wave of surrender, and retreated to the safety and sanity of her own room. Jean slowly put her own dress on, and looked at herself in the mirror. Yes. Yes, indeed. Perfection. She swivelled her hips a little, slowly waved her hands, lip-synched the words of the song. Yes, this would be just perfect.

Five minutes later, she and Stevie and Maria met in the living room to compare notes. The damage done to the Mansion by Marko was still very noticeable, and had only begun to get fixed. The windows had been blown out in the living room, and plastic covers had been put over them. The debris at least was gone. Jean and Stevie looked sexy and elegant in their dresses, and both moved easily with feminine confidence. Maria, it was noted, did not move easily with feminine confidence. In strict point of fact, Jean thought she looked uncommonly like Bullwinkle the Moose in drag.

"Are we all ready, ladies?" she said. "And are _you_   ready, Maria?"

"Oh, boy," Maria said. "Red--you're in a zone right now. I'm too awe-struck with appreciation to be resentful, or anything like that."

"What she said," Stevie added. Jean just nodded.

"Yeah, yeah... OK, ladies. Off we go." And they marched into the small theater of the Mansion, and--to the sound of applause and huzzahs--walked up to the make-shift stage. The boys were there, and the Professor, and Frank, and the Fantastic Four--Johnny, she noted, was sitting with the boys and generally encouraging them in their behavior. Ben Grimm, however, seemed a bit subdued, which puzzled Jean until she remembered stories about the FF's latest mission. And the Guests of Honor--Reed Richards and Sue Storm--were sitting in the middle of the theater, hand-in-hand, seeming very content with the Universe in general. Their wedding was less than a week away, and the X-Men were giving both of them the equivalent of a bachelor/bachelorette party. Of course, since both sexes were present, it couldn't be a "real" bachelor party. But they would do their best. Hank, newly home from the hospital, put a record on, and Jean, standing in front of the other two--Maria to her left, and Stevie to her right--began to sway to the music. And sing.

"If you stopppppped me nowww--you'd never know--

Just how rrrready I am to make you glowwww--

And how much I want to heaaaar you say--

That you are rrrready to name the day--"

Stevie and Maria sang harmony in the background, and Jean was confident that Maria, despite the kidding, was doing well. She risked a slight look out of the corner of her left eye, and saw to her satisfaction that Maria was clapping her hands to the beat of the music, and swaying her so-called hips with the other two. In fact, Maria's singing voice was rather pretty, low and rusty but it had a quality that stuck with you. Combining it with Stevie's lower-register soprano, and Jean's mid-register, slightly rasping alto, the effect was surprisingly harmonious. The crowd was really getting into it, clapping and laughing and singing along, and Jean saw to her satisfaction that Reed and Sue were smiling broadly. The three girls all put their hands in front of them as if to gently push someone away, and had a perfectly synchronized movement of their hips--even Maria's.

"And I finally just want to deeeeeclare--

That for you I will alllways be theeere--

And that all that now neeeeeds to be said--

Is that you and I shall soooooon be wed."

The song ended on that cheerful note, and Jean and Stevie and Maria bowed to greatly enthusiastic applause. Jean saw Hank give Maria a wink, which she returned, and Jean felt a warm glow, as she always did whenever she thought about the happiness her two friends were giving each other. Flushed, she risked a look at Scott, and he smiled appreciatively. Jean wondered for a second if _he_   was winking. And if she'd ever know. And if he was plotting even then on how to get back at _her._ She had been perhaps a little over-enthusiastic in making her point with him. Oh, well...sufficient unto the day is the evil thereof...

A speech was called for from the happy couple--that is, Reed and Sue--and Sue spoke briefly and graciously, and Reed hemmed and hawed and generally sounded more like Professor Xavier than Jean would have thought possible. Then the girls rushed upstairs and got into more normal clothes, and rejoined the others for food and drink and general good fellowship. Ben and Maria were having a serious discussion about Yancy Street, and within a very few minutes Ben seemed much more relaxed. Bless Maria. She did have that effect on people, and Jean decided then and there that Maria had been punished enough. Jean corralled Sue, and hugged her.

"I'm so happy for you!" Jean said, face flushed. "Congratulations, Sue, and I'm _so_   looking forward to the wedding!"

Sue smiled--if Jean didn't know better, she'd say that Sue looked "mysterious". Was there some technique to it? Or did it just develop as one got older? "Thank you, dear." Sue took a good look at Jean. "Goodness. You think that _you_ look--well, decent. Then one gets a look at _you._ And you get the world's worst inferiority complex."

Jean shook her head. "Oh, Sue, please. You're _so_ lovely--"

"And _you,_ Jean Grey, are more than that. You are _sui generis._ Scott is a very lucky young man." Sue noticed the color that Jean turned, because her smile got even more mysterious. "A _very_ lucky young man indeed." And she winked at Jean, and left to find Reed. Jean stood there, and darned if she didn't _feel_ lucky. She and Scott were going to have a very memorable evening later on.

* * *

Charles considered the man sitting in his study. The room had a temporary wall, sufficient so that he could use it while awaiting the permanent repairs necessitated after his step-brother's attack on the School. But it didn't make for a particularly relaxed or cordial atmosphere. The gentleman sitting across from him made no comment on the state of the School, a tact for which Charles was grateful. He was a young man, with a sharp face and hair so blond it almost looked white. Charles looked again at his card. "Dr Walter Lawson, Generalist". Well, _that_ was intriguing enough. And what had been written on the back of the card--"The Stranger"--was more than sufficient to get him an audience.

"Dr Lawson," Charles said cautiously. "You say you are a 'generalist'? How, sir, does that help me? And how do you know of the Stranger?"

Lawson looked carefully at Charles. "I shall be frank, Professor Xavier."

Charles nodded. "By all means, Dr Lawson."

"Indeed." Lawson, Charles noted, spoke perfect English, but there was something about his lack of inflections that made him think that English was not his natural tongue. Which meant that "Lawson" was probably not his real name, either. "Professor--I represent a certain organization. More than that I cannot say now, at least as to details. But I shall say this--we are aware that Earth has been...visited. For a very long time. Longer than anyone else realizes. And that, in the course of that time, humanity has been genetically altered by extraterrestrial forces."

Charles froze. This man seemed very sure of himself. Either he was a lunatic, or he possessed information that could shake the world to its foundations. And be invaluable to him, Charles Xavier. The very fact that he knew who the Stranger was made his being a lunatic, while not impossible, at least improbable. He nodded, listening intently.

"Go on, Dr Lawson."

"Quite. Have you ever heard of the Inhumans?"

Charles shook his head. "No."

Lawson shrugged diffidently. "Perhaps not...they maintain their secrecy very well. Professor--the Inhumans have taken control of _their_ own evolution. And they do that, because alien forces changed _them_ from primitives in the dawn of time. _We_   have absolute evidence of this."

Charles' head spun. The implications--! He simply swallowed and said: "Does this effect we mutants, Dr Lawson?"

Lawson shrugged. "That's what _we'd_ like to know, Professor. We have heard of one or two mutants in our researches. One, whom you might have heard of--En Sabah Nur--"

Charles almost choked. His head was spinning. Whoever else this man was or was not, he was _not_   a lunatic. "Yes, Dr Lawson. I am familiar with him."

"Ah," Lawson said with satisfaction. "Then we need not waste each other's time, Professor. Apocalypse--for of course he is better known by that sobriquet--is very old. And very deadly. But _we_   came into contact with him quite early in our own researches. And learned what we could about him."

The sense of total honesty and truth with which this man spoke was having its effect on Charles. The secrets he might be in possession of--! "And was there any connection you and your people could ever discover, Dr Lawson, between Apocalypse and the--Inhumans, I believe you called them?"

Lawson nodded. "Yes, Professor. And to answer your question--no. No, as far as we can _tell,_ the alien intervention that produced the Inhumans is independent of Apocalypse, or any and all spontaneous mutations that have popped up in our time. But of course, we are concerned about the mutations. We can't help but wonder if there is--you'll excuse the unscientific word-- _purpose_   behind the outbreak. If there isn't _some_ connection between this race that produced the Inhumans--or, indeed, any alien race--and the mutants that we hear so much about today."

Charles nodded. "That is a reasonable question, Dr Lawson. Very reasonable. Are you suggesting that the Stranger--"

Lawson put his hand up, and Charles paused. "Exactly so, Professor. We know that the Stranger told you he was here to study mutations. What else are we to think?"

Charles thought very hard. These people, whoever they were, might have a treasure trove of information he could utilize. And there'd be a price, of course. He would have to reciprocate. Well, he was a scientist. He believed in the free exchange of information. But he needed to know just a little more.

"Your organization, Dr Lawson. Could you be a little more specific? Its age, its resources, its goals? Believe me, I am not asking out of idle curiosity. If we are going to be allies I need to have _some_   idea of whom I am dealing wth."

Lawson chuckled in a quiet, dry way. "My dear Professor--of course! I am hardly asking you to trust _me_   on sight. You already realize that I--and by extension, _we-_ -know a great deal. We are prepared to take you into our confidence, and we ask very little in return. All I shall say is that the race that altered the Inhumans has left tracks. Some of us have followed them--in fact, for a very long time. In the course of this, we have grown and gotten aid from some prominent people over the ages. Some _very_ prominent people. And our goals are simplicity itself. We wish merely to _know!_   To know what is happening with the alien presence, what is happening with the mutant explosion, how they might connect, and be prepared for the day when what is happening is so obvious that it cannot any longer be concealed. When humanity grows up. Are these goals you can appreciate, Professor?"

Chares smiled. "Dr Lawson--I believe that these complement what _I_   am trying to do with the X-Men nicely. I believe that your visit here is fortuitous. I believe that we can come to an arrangement."

Lawson smiled. "Very good, Professor! Very good indeed!" He leaned back in his chair. "Professor Xavier--we shall provide you with anything we have regarding the history of alien infiltration of Earth. In return, we ask for information of yours regarding mutants. Not personal data concerning you or your students-- _that_   is of no interest to us. No, we are more concerned with the general history of mutants. When they appeared, who did what when. Anything that might indicate _why_ the Stranger is interested in them, in this planet. Why mutants _matter._ Can this be arranged?"

Charles Xavier thought for a second, then nodded. "I don't see why not, Dr Lawson. That seems a very good trade indeed."

Lawson's smile grew broader. "Excellent, Professor!" He put his hand out over the desk, and Charles shook it. "For the time being, you shall be dealing with me alone. I trust that suits you."

"As you wish, Dr Lawson."

"Fine, then." He brought up his briefcase to the desk. "Here is some of our data regarding the Inhumans--" They spoke for a good hour, exchanging information, promising to make arrangements for the exchange of more. Lawson was a cautious man, Charles realized, but he knew his stuff. His questions to Charles were pointed and penetrating, and he grasped what Charles told him instantly. Finally he left, and Charles Xavier sat back in his chair with a deeply content sigh. This man, he realized, had sources of information no one else--not even Reed Richards--had. And he had been impressed by the fact that the cursory mental scan Charles had made of him had revealed almost nothing. Somewhere, sometime, Walter Lawson had had training in techniques to guard his mind. That spoke of dedication, and a sophisticated organization behind him. Charles spent a good deal of time the next few days wondering just what that organization could be.

* * *

Bobby Drake looked around him. Times Square was a nightmare of contending forces. Namor and some of his damned fishmen were blowing in from the east. Hydra goons with fancy guns were coming in the other direction. Every super-powered criminal in existence seemed to have converged on this spot of the world. Weren't they supposed to be going to a wedding? He looked over to his left, where the Sandman, in his new Avengers costume, was taking on his old partner Dr Octopus. Who wasn't happy to see him.

"What's the matter, Marko?" Octopus raged. "Are you telling me that the _Avengers_ pay better than _I_   did?" And he whipped his arms around, creating a storm of air that whisked away some sand particles. The Sandman just regrouped himself and reached for a tentacle.

"Octopus, you'd never understand what the Avengers are paying me with," he said. Their private battle moved on. There were a dozen more that Bobby could see, in every direction. Over to his right--Warren was taking on the Vulture. _Ouch._ Well-- _that_ hadn't taken very long...but as soon as the Vulture bit the dust, Dragon Man flew into the scene. Warren flew directly up, Dragon Man following him. Bobby winced to himself, wishing Warren well. Meanwhile--

\--Meanwhile, the Unicorn unleashed a power blast at Bobby, who put up an ice shield almost before he knew what was happening. The blast bounced off the curved shield, and dispersed throughout the area. Then Bobby saw Scott, who looked at the Unicorn with a decidedly unhappy expression. He raised his visor and let loose an optic blast at the Unicorn, just as the Unicorn let loose with one against Scott. A moment later, the Unicorn was lying unconscious in the middle of the Square. Bobby nodded at Scott appreciatively, who just shrugged and went to look for other opponents.

Jean was using her TK powers against Madame Medusa, who was very unhappy indeed with what Jeannie was doing to her hair. Bobby gawked. If there was ever a match-up made in heaven, this was it! Jean had found someone whose red hair was even more amazing than _hers._ Was _that_   why she was putting so much effort into this little catfight?

Over to the north of the Square, Hank was wrestling with--oh my God. The Thinker's Android! And Hank was still pretty woozy from the Juggernaut, Bobby thought as he raced over on an ice slide. "Hey!" he called out. "Are you up to this yet?" Hank smiled.

"Compadre. Not really. But here we are! In the event, the Thinker is still very definitely in jail. But his creation has gotten here somehow. If you please--?" Bobby laughed, and he and Hank lit into the world's most unawesome android. It managed to absorb Bobby's ice powers. For awhile. But Bobby got more and more determined, and pretty soon the android's limitations were clearly shown. Bobby was the original. And the android was lying uselessly on its back in Times Square.

"Way to go, Drake!" Maria cried. Bobby turned his head to see her riding Dragon Man bareback, like she was on Pegasus, and to Bobby's vast amusement Dragon Man was as calm and placid as any horse who had been broken. Maria landed, and waved a finger at Dragon Man.

"Now-- _you_   just stay here and behave yourself, you hear?" Dragon Man just grunted, and stood there exactly as Maria had instructed. With a nod of approval, Maria came over to Bobby.

"Where's Warren?" Bobby asked. Maria shrugged.

"Your guess is as good as mine. He was flying rings around Dragie here, when I took the poor beast off Flyboy's back. Last I saw, he was going after the Mandarin."

"The Mandarin--! Maria-what the hell's going on?"

"Who cares!" she called out excitedly. "Just have fun while it lasts!" And with that, she was off after the Sub-Mariner, who had just had a session with the Human Torch, and wasn't expecting an attack from Shift. Bobby watched the two of them wrestle around for awhile, then looked around for an opponent of his own. And at that moment, not twenty feet away from him, a crack appeared in Forty-Second Street, and some of the Mole Man's subterraneans appeared, looking around for an opponent. Bobby was more than happy to oblige them. In a very few moments, the poor slobs were running back down their hole, and Bobby iced it over to prevent them from coming back.

He turned around, and there was Hank wrestling with a giant ape with super-strength. Another one next to him was--by God, he was _magnetizing_ some weapons carried by Shield agents! That's right--the so-called Red Ghost. And his apes. The ones who went to the Moon with the FF. But magnetism? How lame could you get, after Magneto! He just hoped their old foe didn't hear about it. He'd probably sue for copyright infringement. Well--here we go again--

Soon, both apes were lying unconscious on the ground, with a third, who apparently could morph, running off screeching in panic. Hank and Bobby nodded to each other.

"What now?" Bobby said. The sheer pandemonium in the Square hadn't noticeably lessened. They saw Maria and Namor wrestling on the ground together, and to their astonishment Namor leaned over--just as Maria had him entangled in her extended arms--and _kissed_   her.

Hank's eyes opened wide. "Well, now, _that_   goes beyond what I'd call the bounds of chivalry--"

"What's the matter?" Bobby said with a laugh. "Jealous?" Hank smiled, despite himself, and Maria made a face--as if you could tell--and growled at Namor, who laughed and kissed her again. Then suddenly Scott and Jean were at their side.

"Does Maria need our help?" Jean asked, just as Namor kissed her the second time. Jean giggled, much to Scott's lack of amusement.

"Jean--this is a serious matter."

"Is it?" she asked. "Scott--I feel like Orson Welles has been made God for one day. This whole thing is crazy! What's going on, anyway?"

"Apparently, Dr Doom has gathered every super-villain in creation to disrupt the wedding," Scott said. Jean, Bobby and Hank listened to this with a poker face.

"--OK," Bobby said. "What do we _do_   about it, anyway? Just keep clobbering everybody we see?" And just as he said this, Warren came into the picture, a thoroughly beaten Mandarin over his shoulder, out like a light. Warren put him almost tenderly down on the pavement.

"Righto," he said cheerfully. "Next?" He looked at Jean. "You had fun with Medusa, didn't you?"

Jean flushed, and Bobby thought she looked exceptionally beautiful at that moment. "Loads!" Just at that moment, Iron Man came by with the Wizard out cold over _his_   shoulder, and he waved at the X-Men.

"Uh--guys?" they heard Maria call out. Namor was tying her flexible limbs in knots, and kissing her every few seconds as he did so. "Maybe I could get some, you know, help over here?" The X-Men took one good look and laughed heartily. "I suppose we _could_   arrange for some aid," Scott said quietly. But just as he did, Namor, and all the other villains in the Square, suddenly vanished.

"Oh my," Hank said softly. "Looks as if Reed has figured out something." The others nodded, and all the heroes in the Square made their way back to the Baxter Building. The crowds that had been gathered there, dispersed by the chaos that ensued, slowly made their way back as well. Bobby saw a red-haired girl--not as pretty as Jean, but very wholesome-looking--who her friend referred to as "Patsy", pick up a sign that said, "FF Fan Club, Springdale Chapter", and give the X-Men an appreciative look as they passed. Patsy gave Jean an especially appreciative look, almost as if she was measuring her, and finally sighed and shook her head. Bobby smiled to himself. Not many girls could pass _that_   test.

The wedding proceeded, and everyone had a good time, despite the chaos. Bobby wasn't quite sure just what had happened, but finally decided that Scott and Hank had it as right as he was ever going to know. During the reception, he talked to the new Avengers and Spider-Man, Scott talked to Captain America, Jean talked to Daredevil, Maria spent a long time speaking with Iron Man, the Professor had a very serious discussion with Reed and Hank Pym, and Hank compared notes with Ben Grimm. Nobody stayed too long, but Bobby thought a good time was had by all before the bride and groom finally departed.


	60. A Day in the Life

BOOK SIX: OUROBOROS

* * *

Chapter Sixty

* * *

"Hey, Carrot-top! Rise 'n shine!"

Jean Grey Summers blinked her eyes, looked around. _Oh, for God's sake--_ "I dozed off?" she said to Lorna Dane Summers, peering down at her.

"Sure looks like it." Lorna walked briskly over to the window of the ancient study in the Xavier Mansion, and opened it. "It's too nice a spring day not to get some fresh air in here, Jeannie. No wonder you dropped off! All that stale air--" Lorna shook her head dolefully. "What would the Universe think if they knew that you were doddering off into slumberland at the first opportunity?"

"I didn't sleep well last night," Jean said ruefully. She stood up and stretched. Her muscles retained their tone, even at sixty-five, and her bones were in superb shape. For someone her age. But she didn't kid herself. She wasn't a spring chicken. Or even a summer one.

" 'Carrot-top'?" she said with a hint of a smile. "By God. _That's_   been out-of-date for long enough."

"Not to me," Lorna said cheerfully. "You'll always be 'Red' to me."

Jean peered intently at Lorna's hair. "Well, it's better than what they used to call _you._ "

Lorna laughed. "Looking for a wisp of green? Afraid you're ten years too late for _that._ "

"Ororo's lucky. _Her_ hair never changes. As a result, she looks exactly like she always did. No-- _better._ She's immortal." For some reason, this thought amused the two women, and they laughed uproariously. Then Lorna frowned slightly.

"You didn't sleep well?"

Jean shook her head. "No. No, I didn't. Just thinking, I guess."

Lorna's mouth twitched. " _That's_ not a good sign. When _you_ get around to thinking--well, things happen."

Jean waved a hand. "Only if I really _want_ them to." And they laughed again. "But, Lorna--was there a reason why you woke me up?"

Lorna nodded. "Actually, yeah. A message coming in from the Vatican. His Holiness wants a word with you. I said ten minutes."

"Oh, for heaven's sake." She looked at her reflection in the window. "I look like a _mess._ I have to run up and get a hairbrush--"

"His Holiness doesn't care." Lorna was smiling when she said that, and Jean relaxed a bit.

"No. No, I guess he doesn't." She frowned. "Where's Scott?"

"Down at the boathouse. He's trying to get Charley interested in sailing."

Jean snorted. "If I know _my_ grandson, he'll be teaching _Scott_ about boats within a week. Charley doesn't let the grass grow under his feet... OK. I'd better get back to the Vatican." Lorna nodded and left the room. Jean sighed to herself, and pushed a button on her desk, and a visionphone appeared. She punched in the direct line to the Vatican, and after a moment the Pope appeared on the screen.

"Fraulein," Kurt Wagner said, smiling. "Thank you for a prompt reply."

"Always, Kurt," she answered. "What may I do for the Church this fine spring day?"

Kurt looked dubious. "Would it have mattered if it were a hot summer day?"

"Maybe not," Jean said, laughing. "I'm in a particularly good mood this afternoon, _Herr_ Wagner. Or should I call you John the twenty-fourth?"

"Only on _very_ formal ocasions, Jeannie. And even then, I don't know if _you_   ever should."

"Oh, I don't mind," she said with a trace of archness that surprised her. "But really, Kurt-- _is_   there something on your mind?"

"Only a question. Are you going to Zenn-La for the wedding of Norrin and Shalla-Bal?"

Jean frowned. "I certainly intended to, Kurt. Why do you ask?"

"Because if you're going to be absent from Earth in that time, then I'm going to delay a trip to the USA I've been toying with. There was a Church function I could have gone to, but if _you_ aren't going to be there, I'll wait until you are. Nothing more serious than that."

Jean sighed ostentatiously. "My dear _Herr_ Wagner. Why don't you do _both?_   You know--come twice? Or is that too abstruse a notion for one of your holy simplicity?"

Kurt laughed. "Perhaps I shall, Phoenix. But one _does_   have duties, as you might be aware of."

"So I've always heard. OK, then. I'll look forward to seeing you whenever you _are_ here. As always."

"Likewise." Kurt bowed his head to her, in the usual homage, and signed off. Jean shut her eyes, feeling very good. Forgetting, for the moment, that which was keeping her up at nights. _No._ She wanted to talk to friends, be reassured about the stability of this world, this cosmos, that so much sacrifice had safeguarded, and which _she_   was the ultimate guarantor of. No, she wanted to hear voices. Loved voices. She punched another button, and the President of Genosha was on his visionphone. Eric Magnus Lehnsherr was a good eighty-five years old, but looked, if anything, younger than she did. He was still vigorous, and still had a ready smile when he was in the mood to display it. As he was doing now.

"To what do I owe the honor, Phoenix?" he said. That--"Phoenix"--was how Jean was addressed, by everybody from the lowliest petitioner to Galactus himself. No other honorific would have been regarded as suitable enough.

"Nothing, Eric. I'm just lonely and reaching out."

Magneto laughed. " _You,_ 'lonely'? I find that hard to fathom, Jean."

"Nevertheless, Eric. So many people whom I love are scattered over all existence. I miss them. I miss _you._ " She smiled. "Never mind. How are things in Genosha?"

"Excellent!" Eric said heartily. "Our new crop yields are far surpassing expectations. We will be growing enough food right here in our island to have fed the entire world of 1963--the date of our first meeting."

Jean made a face. "Ancient history, Eric. _Very_   ancient."

"Indeed. But I think of it a lot these days. A privilege of encroaching senility."

"If you say so," she said with a mock severity. "But why are you thinking of those days at all?"

"Because we were all so young and innocent," he said. "Even my genocidal arrogance seems innocent to me these days."

"Well, if so, _you're_ the only one who does think so," she answered. "I like you better as the President of Genosha."

"It's because you've tamed me," he said with a laugh. "I'm a constructive citizen these days. And I'm finding that challenge enough."

Jean suddenly looked thoughtful. "Eric--do you miss the old days? I don't mean, miss that man you were in 1963. Nobody misses _him_ , if you'll excuse my being blunt. But do you miss--well, the challenges? The struggle? Say, the Utopia days? When I was--absent--and Scott had to gather the remaining mutants of the world together on your old asteroid? And the odds seemed so dreadful?"

He looked thoughtful. "That's a very interesting question, Jean," he said slowly. " _Very_ interesting. Yes, I do sometimes miss the struggle. The challenge. We have all come through to better days. Thanks to _you._ I frankly did not think I should ever see them." He looked right into her eyes from across the ocean. "Is there a reason for this question, Jean? I sense something in your voice."

Jean nodded. "Yes, old friend. Yes, there is. It is possible--no more than a possibility--that we face a challenge yet again."

"One that we-- _you-_ -cannot meet easily?"

"I don't know yet," she said simply. "But I wanted to sound you--all of you--out. Let you know that something might be in the wind."

Eric looked serious indeed right then. "Can you say anything about it?"

"Not yet. Not really. Just that I might have to return to the Crystal before it's all over."

" _My God._ " Magneto suddenly looked every bit his age.

" 'Might', I said." She smiled. "And even if I do--well, I have been there before. It holds no terrors for me, Eric."

"Phoenix," he said formally. "I beseech you--do what you must. Take whatever steps are needed. Is there anything I can do to assist you?"

She smiled gently. "No, Eric. No, I don't think so--apart from just being there, to provide support. _That_   is something I always need."

Magneto looked haunted. "Of course." He bowed, and Jean cut off the transmission. She shut her eyes, and thought. About a place that was infinite, but bounded one nonetheless--almost like a tomb. That had eternity embedded within it, yet was as near as a heartbeat. _The Crystal._ As she thought, its pattern unfolded within her head. She traced its outlines, its nooks and crannies, and as she did all existence was _there,_ as clear in her mind as her own name. This was something she could never explain to anyone, not Charles, not Rachel, not even Galactus. Even _he_   was bounded in some ways. She--when she embraced Eternity--was not. And for a few moments, Eternity was within the Crystal, and she--Phoenix--was arbitrating between the forces, examining yet again the balance she had created within the Crystal in 1968, when the Mad Emperor D'Ken had so nearly wiped all of existence out.

Jean came to. Yes--yes, the sun _was_   still shining in this study, on this lovely April day in 2012. And her analysis was still the same. She sent her thoughts out through the Mansion, until she reached the one whom she sought.

 _Jean,_ she thought. _Please--will you come to my study?_ It was only a moment before Jean McCoy presented herself to Jean Summers. The girl bowed, and waited expectantly. _Girl. My God, she must be thirty if she's a day. Why do I think of her as a 'girl', anyway?_ Hank and Maria's daughter had her mother's height, and her father's fur. Not as thick and glossy as Hank's, but it was there. And she had a good amount of her mother's physical strength, though she did not have the ability to Shift. _Which is a blessing for you,_ Jean thought.

"Jean--" she said slowly. Jean McCoy stood there, respectful and ever-so-slightly constrained. Jean sighed to herself. Their generation had never been able to entirely relax in her presence, no matter how hard she tried to get them to. Was this how the younger generation of the people of Israel had reacted to Moses, towards the end of their forty years wandering in the desert? But she, Jean Grey, had led her people to the Promised Land. Or so she had always thought...

"Jean," she said more confidently to her namesake. "How are you today? Is everything well?"

"Oh, everything is fine, Jean," she answered. "As always. I have a Chemistry Lab later today--" Jean went on for awhile, speaking enthusiastically about the work she did with the students here at the School. Jean Summers listened appreciatively. Jean McCoy was Assistant Headmistress of the School, Kitty Rasputin having assumed the role of Headmistress after Emma's retirement. Young Jean's forte was science, in which she strongly took after her father.

Phoenix listened to this for a minute or so, then put up a hand. "Very good," she said. "I'm delighted the work of the School is in such capable hands."

Jean McCoy smiled with real warmth. "Oh, thank you, Phoenix. But of course, _your_ presence blesses our endeavors. Just by being here."

Phoenix almost winced. Her true history was remarkable enough. But the younger generation embellished it--again, like Moses, she wondered suddenly? Never mind. Jean was doubtful--more than doubtful--that her "presence" in and of itself blessed the School. But try convincing young Jean of that--!

"Might I ask how your parents are doing on their vacation?"

Jean McCoy's face lighted up. "Oh, they're having a great time! Daddy has never seen the Magellanic Cloud before, and so _he_ is seeing everything, and they just _loved_ Hala, and everyone treated them _so_ nicely there--" The girl went on for a while along these lines, and Phoenix gathered that Maria was showing Hank all her old haunts in the Kree Empire. Jean Summers finally put up a hand.

"I'm delighted they're having such a good time," Jean said. "Really. Do you know if they'll be home soon?"

"Oh, yes," young Jean said with a nod. "In fact, they'll be home in just a few days. They've said how much they're looking forward to seeing all of us again. Especially _you,_ of course."

"Of course," Jean said with a sigh. _My God. Can I really be considering doing what I'm thinking of?_ "Well, I'm looking forward to seeing them." Jean McCoy was dismissed soon afterwards, looking a bit puzzled on her way out as to why Phoenix had summoned her, but hers not to reason why--

_Judas. I'm a Judas. Well, no--_ _I_ _can't_ _be_ _a Judas, I guess. More like King Arthur sacrificing Lancelot. Oh, Maria--I've thought and thought. I don't see another way._

And she sat there, hands covering her face, and didn't notice when Scott came in and found her sobbing.

"Jean. Jean!" And the concern and love in his voice broke through her misery, as it always did. She leapt up into his arms, and kissed him passionately. She looked deep into his brown eyes, and stroked his gray hair, and kissed him again.

"Scott! Oh, Scott!" And she sobbed some more, and Scott Summers realized that something was seriously wrong, because Jean could feel his body go tense, and she could read the turmoil running through his mind.

"Jean? What is it, anyway?"

Jean smiled, and sat down on a sofa. Scott sat next to her, taking her hand. "Scott--are there ever such things as happy endings? Really?"

Scott considered this, little expression on his face. "I don't know, Jean," he finally said. "I guess even the happiest story ends in death. Sooner or later." And they looked at each other, and laughed. And laughed some more, unable to stop until their sides ached. Jean kissed Scott again, and he ran his fingers through her hair, and for just the briefest moment Jean Grey was a girl again, and simply a mutant, and the two of them were innocent and had innocent hopes for the future.

"I suppose so," Jean said. "But Scott-- _our_ story. Haven't you felt that it would--well, go on, of course--but that just maybe, _we_   had earned a final respite from troubles? That just maybe we _deserved_   a quiet old age?"

"Then you still see no way out of it," Scott said simply. Jean shook her head.

"I don't think so, Scott. God help me, I don't."

"Well, Jean, if _you_   can't help us, I don't see how God can."

"It's not fair!"

"No. No, Jean, it certainly is _not._ What has that got to do with anything?"

"Scott--if I can't wrest _some_ fairness out of existence, then what has any of it really meant?"

Scott didn't reply for some time. "Jean--" he finally said in a soft voice. "Jean--my darling. You have died, and been returned to me. More than once. I have cursed the night, cursed God. Cursed the unfairness of the Universe, that took you from me. I cursed it every day Emma and I were together. That was unfair to _her,_ but I did, and she knew it. But you were returned to me, in the end, and we have had much of our lives. You _did_ wrest fairness out of existence. You did so much more than that. And Phoenix--look what _she_   has done. You have succeeded, Jean. You've won triumphs no one else can imagine."

"But I can't save Maria!"

"Jean--remember when we met Maria? What, who she was then? Think of everything she _has_ had since, that none of us ever expected for her. And think of the despair _she_ has felt-because of you. And think of how _she_ cursed the night, and God. And what you then granted her--as you granted it to me. Jean--Maria will have no complaints. I know her. We both do. You know she will have no complaints."

Jean shut her eyes. She knew what Scott said was true, but it did nothing to lessen her pain. She heard his voice again.

"Darling--remember too. If you have given the Universe _anything,_ it's this lesson--that we never abandon hope. Never. You have to remember that--especially now. More than ever."

She nodded finally, feeling his arms around hers. He kissed the nape of her neck, and she responded, placing his arms around her waist. After some time, they parted.

"Thank you, Scott." Her voice had simple honesty in it. He smiled.

"Hey--it's what I'm here for." They stood up, and Jean looked out the study window. Far off, some students were playing a makeshift game of soccer. Jean laughed.

"Hey--I wonder if it's Powers, or No Powers?"

Scott extended his arm. "Let's go find out."

* * *

Christopher Summers walked through the desolation that had once been an orphanage in Nebraska. _Nebraska! Earth!_   My God. He was _home._ He was wearing a sports shirt and gray slacks. He was wearing real, honest-to-God _shoes._ He was, however briefly, a human being again. Earth had changed out of recognition since he left. But at least it was still here. There hadn't been the final nuclear war, that war everyone had expected. He chuckled to himself. My God--he had seen oppression, tyranny, wars, that made even World War II seem like an anecdote. He had seen things that no other human being had. How did that make him feel about this world now, and his fellow Earthmen?

No matter. He'd chew on that for a long time--maybe the rest of his life. Meanwhile, he still had no trace of Alex. Finding Scott hadn't been difficult. All he had to do was look in a newspaper. He wasn't sure why he knew that Scott, or Xavier for that matter, didn't know where Alex was. It was just a hunch--but Christopher Summers had learned to trust his hunches. He would see Scott soon enough. And the girl who had bewitched him. He smiled. That girl would bewitch any man!

 _Mutants._ He had never heard of the word before seeing Scott, the X-Men, plastered all over the pages of recent issues of _Time_   and _Life._ It seemed a strange coincidence to him-- _he,_ the first human to see the Universe, indeed to make his mark there. And his son--sons?--being this strange thing the media called "mutants". And Christopher Summers did not believe in coincidence. For the man called Corsair, that word was a lazy usage, something you used to sweep under the rug something you couldn't explain. Therefore--he was involved in a Deep Game. A very Deep Game indeed, as he remembered the events inside the M'Kraan Crystal. That was part of the Game. But what else was? Well, he was here on Earth to find that out.

He smiled to himself, thinking of his fellow Starjammers patiently waiting for him up there in orbit. Waiting for him to play this hunch of his--that somehow, in some way, it was _here_ , on Earth, that the solution to the problem of the deterioration of the Crystal--and all of Time--could be found. He had no rational basis for the hunch, but that didn't matter. He was a born gambler, and he _knew_   he was right about this, just as there were times when you knew what the next roll of the dice would be.

In any event, this place, where he had traced his sons to, was not going to provide any answers. Alex had to be _somewhere_   out there. Christopher would find him, and--he was convinced--much else, besides.

* * *

J Jonah Jameson looked wearily outside his office window. The wreckage of Spider-Man's fight with the Scorpion was still strewn all over the _Bugle_   building. He snorted. The "Scorpion"! For God's sake, man, say it-- _Mac Gargan._ _His_ creation. _His_ man. _He,_ J Jonah Jameson, had created the Scorpion. To fight one menace, he had unleashed a far greater one upon the world. Everything Gargan had done was _his_ responsibility. And he wasn't going to say a word about it to anyone. Yes, he, J Jonah Jameson, the great exponent of responsibility, was covering his ass in the most cowardly way. And he was prepared to pay Mac Gargan any amount of hush money to keep _his_ trap shut. Indeed, the first payment had already been made. And Jameson didn't have the slightest hesitation about it, despite what his infernal conscience kept saying to him.

And this was because the story of the Sentinels was coming together. And revealing the truth about _that_   little matter was more important, right now, that his coming clean about his mistakes. _Oh, God, man--your_ _crimes_ _. Say the word. Don't lie to yourself._ Yes, he was just as morally compromised as Spider-Man was. His hands had touched pitch, and he couldn't wash it off. Not yet. Because this story _had_   to be seen through to its conclusion. Frank Gianelli wasn't the only reporter he had on it. Ned Leeds had also been put on the matter full-time. He needed his best man. Because if what they were telling him was true, the world was on the brink of catastrophe.

Jameson shut his eyes. Russia! The damned lunatic Trask was going to send Sentinels into the goddam _Soviet Union!_   That would make the Cuban Missile Crisis look like a minuet. Somehow, he had to be stopped. Indeed, his plans merely-- _merely!-_ -for the USA were sinister enough. Genocide. Right here on US soil. With a citizenry scared half to death about all the nightmares the past few years had brought. Mole men. Insane dictators who wore armor and had weaponry as great as the US government itself. New York City occupied by a foreign army, led by the Sub-Mariner, who was dangerous enough to be an invading army in and of himself. Hulks, mutants, even invading aliens. No, people were right to be scared out of their wits. Which is what Trask was counting on. No matter what they thought of his tactics, at least he was doing _something-_ -or so he hoped people would figure it. And the frightening thing was, J Jonah Jameson wasn't entirely sure he was wrong.

He was waiting for a visitor. The means he had used to communicate with this individual were convoluted, and better not thought about too much. What mattered were the results. If he came-- There was a rap on his window. Jameson looked over, and saw Spider-Man waving his hand. Jameson went over and opened the window.

"Come on in, Spider-Man," he said wearily. His visitor obeyed, leaping lightly down to the floor.

"I was intrigued to get your summons, Jonah," Spider-Man said. "And even more so, by the messenger you sent."

"Yes, yes," Jameson said with a wave of his hand. "Spider-Man--sit down, please. We need to talk." Spider-Man seated himself on a sofa near Jameson's desk, which he himself sank down behind. Spider-Man looked intently at the publisher.

"Hey, Jonah--what gives? You really look out of it."

"I _am_ 'out of it', as you would say, Spider-Man," Jameson said. "I have much on my conscience. The Scorpion. Smythe and his damned Spider-Slayer. Professor Reinhart. The so-called Professor Reinhart. All of it."

Spider-Man seemed to digest this. "Well, Jonah, if this is an apology--"

"Apology?" Jameson almost snarled. "The hell it is! This has nothing to do with _you,_ you masked menace! I have nothing to apologize _for._ I don't take back a syllable I've ever written about you. No, Spider-Man--this is about _me,_ not you."

There was silence from his old antagonist. "I think I understand," he finally said, in a surprisingly subdued tone of voice. Jameson nodded.

"Yeah," he growled. "I've crossed the line. _Your-_ example has rubbed off on me, Wallcrawler. And quite frankly, I can't let it anymore. The stakes are too high." And slowly, concisely, J Jonah Jameson told Spider-Man about the Sentinels, and about how Bolivar Trask was planning to use them against mutants--both in America, and the rest of the world. Spider-Man was silent for some time after Jameson was finished.

"Well, well, well," Spider-Man said after awhile. "If this isn't interesting, nothing is. But I don't get it, Jonah. Why _me?_   Why tell _me_   about all this? Are you telling the X-Men?"

"I'm telling them enough," he said. "After all, the reporter who's worked on this the longest is the sister of Maria. Shift." He frowned. "I'll bet _you_   two are buddies. You would be."

Spider-Man laughed. "I've only met her a few times, but yeah--we _do_ get along."

"I'm sure," Jameson said. "I'd deny this under torture, Spider-Man, but I rather like her myself. No matter. Yes, the X-Men are learning what I think is necessary for them to learn. But it's the public that needs to know." He took a cigar, seemed about to light it, then changed his mind. "As for why I want _you_ to know--it's simplicity itself. I want to declare a truce with you."

"A truce," Spider-Man said cautiously. "What sort of truce, Jonah?"

Jameson leaned forward. "I shall cease from attacking you, Spider-Man, if you will cease being a lone vigilante. All I ask is that you coordinate your efforts with someone, anyone. The FF. The Avengers. The FBI. The NYPD. _Anybody._ I do not ask you to reveal your identity. That is irrelevant. All I ask is that you be responsible to someone. The stakes are too high. I need to concentrate my fire on Trask and the madmen behind him. Is this really unreasonable?"

Spider-Man was silent for a long time. "What if there was some sort of emergency? Suppose I'm swinging through Midtown, and see the Green Goblin, say, robbing a store? I presume I could stop him."

Jameson sighed. "Of course. All I ask is that you inform whoever the hell it is of your activities when you're through. And coordinate with them in advance if you know you are going into action. You do this, Spider-Man, and I swear I'll write a front-page editorial praising your efforts towards responsibility. If I can keep from getting sick, at _my_   use of that word."

Spider-Man rose, strode through the office. "Maybe," he said. "Maybe it would work. I wouldn't necessarily promise anything beyond the end of the Sentinel Crisis."

"That's good enough. For now."

Spider-Man was silent again. "Jonah--"

"Yes, Spider-Man?"

"After I--received--my powers, I used them selfishly. For my own gain."

Jameson nodded. "I remember. You were a TV entertainer for a few months. Became quite famous for awhile there."

"--Yes. And then-- Then, I had the chance to stop someone. To catch a crook. And I didn't, because I couldn't be bothered. Oh, no-- _I_   was Number One, and one lone crook was too insignificant for someone like _me._ And then--then, that same crook hurt someone. Someone close to me. All I had to do was put my arm out, and I could have prevented it. But I didn't." He paused. "And I swore then that no one would ever come to harm again, because I refused to act."

J Jonah Jameson sat at his desk for a long time, motionless. "I'm sorry," was all he said. "I really am, Spider-Man. That must be a terrible burden on you."

"It is." He thought for a second. "Jonah--am I doing right? By thinking that? Is _that_ the lesson I should have taken away from it?"

Jameson shrugged. "Spider-Man--I'm the last person on earth whom you should use as a conscience. My own isn't any too clean. All I can say is, if you agree with my proposal, I don't feel that it will be any violation of your pledge."

"No. No, I don't think so either, Jonah." He paused. "How about the Avengers? I trust Captain America. Would that be all right for you?"

"Absolutely." And Spider-Man came over and offered his gloved hand to J Jonah Jameson, who took it.

* * *

Maria was packing. The Professor had given them all a week off, while the Mansion was undergoing its final repairs after the Juggernaut incident. The others were going to their families, and Maria was returning with Hank to Reading. And Scott, it seemed, was going with Jean to Annandale.

"Well, well, well," Maria had said to Jean the evening before. "So you've really got him on the hook then?"

"And reeling him in," Jean said, laughing. "Mom and Dad know, of course. Still, the formalities will be observed. Separate bedrooms. Of course! But something tells me that the Walls of Jericho just might not be enough to stand in the way of true love."

"Huh. Are your folks quite as understanding as the Prof is?"

"Oh, who knows. But young people are _very_ ingenious. Especially we muties."

"I guess so." Maria leaned over and hugged her friend. "I'll miss you, you know."

"Me, too." And the two girls talked long into the night--about the events of the past year, about their lives, about love, about--inevitably--sex. Jean was somewhat more voluble on this subject than Maria was, who finally sighed.

"Miss Ten Minutes," she said at last. "Jean--I try not to exhibit the sin of envy. But you and Scott--! You're both so--inventive."

"You and Henry do OK," Jean said with a smile. "Considering your circumstances. And you have such _affection._ Maria--there's a point that affection, the kind you two show each other, becomes sex. Becomes something greater than sex. Just you as you--as Maria, as Shift--Maria, you positively _exhude_ love. In a way that transcends sex."

"Maybe," Maria said slowly. "But the rest of it would still be nice." Jean giggled.

"The poor boy still feels that he's betraying you, if you Shift into another female state?"

Maria smiled. "Actually, we're making a little progress there. Hank, it seems, has always had a bit of a thing for Kate Hepburn."

"Kate Hepburn!" Jean seemed shocked beyond words by this revelation. "You're kidding. Kate Hepburn? _Katherine Hepburn?_ "

"He thinks she's a real lady. Smart, aristocratic, but sexy withal. In a smooth, sophisticated way. And--well--" Suddenly, a young Katherine Hepburn, from the days of _Morning Glory,_ appeared on Jean's bed. "The calla-lillies ah in bah-loom too-day," she said in a perfect Connecticut Yankee accent. Jean roared with laughter.

"Oh, my God!" she finally said when her fit of laughter stopped. "And you mean to tell me the poor boy found this intriguing?"

"He did," Maria said proudly. "A regular _femme fatale_   figure would have seemed like cheating to him." She paused again. "Mis-tah All-nutt." And that set Jean off again. "But Kate! It seems that Kate represents respectable femininity to our dear Mr McCoy. He can get amorous with Kate, and feel that he's screwing Class-with-a-K. And even feel that I _approve._ " She Shifted back to her normal self, a wicked grin on her face. "Which of course, I do. This doubles our time together. And you know what they say--double your pleasure, double your fun--"

And Jean fell over in helpless laughter. "Oh, _God!_ " she was finally able to gather herself together to say. "Katherine Hepburn! What's next on your devious agenda? Queen Elizabeth?"

Maria looked shocked. "Heaven's, no! That would be _lese-majeste._ No. No--I was thinking of Eleanor Roosevelt..." But she wasn't able to say another word, because at the mention of that name Jean Grey pummeled her with a seemingly endless stream of pillows and panties and bras and anything else she could think of, all the while laughing like a maniac.


	61. Lorna and Alex

Chapter Sixty-one

* * *

Bobby Drake leaned back at his small table in the _Coffee-a-Go-Go,_ and sipped more espresso. The place _had_   changed. Middle-class kids from the suburbs predominated these days, and one of the results of _that_ was that Artesia had fled the joint. An inquiry to Bernard gave the answer that she had gone to more genuinely Bohemian lairs in the East Village. When Bobby asked about the locations of these "lairs", Bernard had been uncharacteristically evasive, and Bobby didn't inquire further, feeling that Artesia may have just not wanted to be a magnet for publicity. After they revealed their identities, a great deal of media attention had centered upon the _Coffee-a-Go-Go,_ and many of the old _habitues_   had quit the place. Artesia, apparently, was one of them.

Bernard, on the other hand, seemed to be thriving. Indeed, he had become something of a local celebrity. College girls were fascinated by him, and he seemed to be fascinated by _them._ Bobby sighed. Nice work if you could get it. Bobby looked around for Zelda, and finally got hold of her. She walked over to his table, and he could see that she was exhausted.

"They keeping you busy, Zelda?"

"More than busy," she said breathlessly. "I'm afraid, Bobby, that I'll be here until three a.m. anyway. They're short-handed. They're _always_   short-handed. But I'm not going to be available, and I'm very sorry, but that's life, you know, and what can you do?"

Bobby shook his head. "Nothing, I'm afraid," he said. "You don't want me to stick around?"

She shook her head vigorously. "No, no! You'd be underfoot. I'd constantly be looking over to see if you were getting bored, and that you were about to freeze the whole place or something, and that would put us out of business and I'd be out of a job, and what good would _that_   do anybody?"

Bobby nodded, as if the logic of this was obvious, and Zelda went back to work. Her reaction to his identity as Iceman had been very Zeldaish--a long discussion with him about karma, and whether his use of violence was harming his; and listening to Artesia--while she had still been here--talking about her reading of Bobby with the Tarot deck. Bobby, it seemed, would not be privy to the details of this reading, and all Zelda said about it was that Artesia just shook her head, over and over, mumbling something about how the cards must be "wrong". And then Zelda said something Bobby found very strange indeed--that Artesia had taken a reading of Jean, and then ritually burned her cards, swearing never to consult them again.

Well, the night was still young, and he had not the slightest desire to make an early evening of it and return to Long Island, where he was spending his vacation. Not that things were all that bad there. Dad had come to accept him as an adult, and while they would never be what Bobby would describe as "close", they were no longer opponents, either. And Mom still seemed somewhat chastened over learning of his secret identity. But her greeting had been no less affectionate than usual, and he felt she was hanging onto him for dear life, maybe because she didn't know what else to do.

Bobby walked north, along Ninth Avenue, out of the Village towards Hell's Kitchen. Not much seemed to be happening in the city this summer night. He wished for some action, anything, to get the mental cobwebs out of his system. He felt listless and bored. The business with the Stranger and the Juggernaut ate away at him sometimes. Strange things were happening around the team, things that seemed to get more and more menacing and significant. That bird of fire Maria had turned into--what _was_ that? He couldn't help but feel it was important. And why had Jean seemed to _know_ what it was? No one had explained that to them, and he wasn't about to ask _her._ He chuckled to himself. He wondered if Artesia knew the answer to _that_ question.

But thinking of that got him back to thinking of Maria, and also Hank. God--he still flushed when he remembered what an immature jerk he had been when Maria joined the team. Well, they had said that if he toed the line, it wouldn't ever be brought up again. He _had_   toed the line, and it _hadn't_   been brought up. But he wondered sometimes if they ever thought of it, talked about it among themselves. God--he hoped not! And every day since then, Maria had become more and more important to him. So often she was his link to sanity--she, and Hank. That they were in love made everything seem better. She and Hank...Warren and Candy...and of course, Scott and Jean. _That_   went without saying. And Bobby and--? Zelda? Zelda was a swell kid, and they hit it off just great, but there wasn't really anything there that suggested a great and legendary romance. Or was he being unrealistic? Was he spoiled, after watching Scott and Jean? Or even Maria and Hank?

These thoughts were still with him when he turned west onto Twenty-Fourth Street, walking through an area of old brownstones and low-rise brick apartment houses, at the call of the Master. Bobby, still preoccupied with his own musings, walked down the steps to a basement apartment and knocked on the door. It opened, and the Master bade him enter. Bobby did so, and there the Master was--medium height, dark hair, his characteristic green skin. He walked around Bobby for a moment or so.

"Well, Drake. Well, well, well," the Master said heartily. " _That_   wasn't very hard, my boy. Just walked right up to you and put you under, out there in the northern section of the Village. Made you walk a bit, and then come here. My name is Mesmero, by the way. Pleased to know you."

"Yes, Master," Bobby said very evenly. Mesmero smiled appreciatively.

"Oh, quite, quite," he said. "One of the X-Men! What a coup! I could hardly avoid the chance to get one of _you,_ now, could I? And believe it or not, I even have a mission for you."

"Yes, Master," Bobby said, still in that perfectly even tone. Mesmero clapped his hands in glee.

"Oh, this is just _wonderful!_ Iceman, my boy, you're _such_ a good subject--much better than I had anticipated." Mesmero rummaged through some papers, then seemed to think better of it. "Oh, to hell with it. You won't need a picture--not of _this_ girl. Iceman, I want you to find a lost girl. A girl who's run away from home. I'm _very_ concerned about her. She ran away about a month ago, and I've been going frantic trying to find her. I'm almost certain that she's hiding somewhere in this part of Hell's Kitchen--the West Side dock area here. _You_ are going to find her."

"Yes, Master."

"Now--this might not be as difficult as it seems. All you have to do is get her to utilize her powers. Oh, did I mention that she had powers?"

"No, Master."

"No? Well, she does. Very dangerous powers. She is a mutant, like you X-Men. Her name is Lorna Dane. And she'll be easy to find, since she has green hair. You'll be able to recognize that, won't you, Iceman?"

"Yes, Master."

"Good! Good! You'll have to smoke her out somehow. Once she uses her powers, you'll know it. After all, you've fought Magneto, you know what magnetic powers are like when you see them." Mesmero frowned. "Oh, I didn't tell you--there is a slight catch."

"Oh, Master?"

"Yes. Yes, I'm afraid so. When I said she ran away from home--well, I was simplifying matters a bit, I fear. Yes, she ran away--but she had help, too. A very unfortunate young man. Another mutant. His first name is Alexander--I don't know his last name; he's been _very_   stubborn about revealing it, even to me! But he's about her age--and yours. Blond. Shoots energy plasma from his fingers. He's _very_   powerful. And if you can believe it--he induced her to run away from home! From _me!_   And the loving family atmosphere I provide! Now, Iceman, is _that_   a good thing for him to do?"

"No, Master."

"Of course not! So-- _you_ must find her, anyway you can, overcome this unfortunate young man, and bring her back to me. Safe and sound. Do you think you can do that, Iceman?"

"Yes, Master."

"Very well. You may begin." And Bobby left the basement apartment, walking out into the city at night, thinking about his assignment. His romantic problems would have to wait, he guessed. First things first. The Master needed him.

* * *

"Alex?" Lorna Dane said, looking around her in the dark. "Alex? Are you there?"

She gasped slightly, as an arm grasped hers in the dark. "I'm here, Lorna."

"Oh!" She hugged him, held him close. "Thank God! I thought--I thought..." She shuddered, knowing she didn't have to tell Alex Summers what she had been thinking. Long abuse at the hands of Mesmero was still giving her nightmares. They probably always would. Alex kissed her in the dark.

"You thought he had come for you?" Lorna shivered, and she could feel Alex giving her all the comfort he could.

"Yes. Yes, I did think that."

"Lorna--babe--let's go to Xavier's. I keep telling you this. _He'll_   be able to protect you--protect us--and if Scott and the others are there--"

" _No!_ " Lorna shouted. She paused and shook her head. "I'm sorry, Alex. I'm sorry. But no. I can't be _anywhere_   that--he--could find me. I just _can't!_ And he _would_ find me there. And all of them, even Charles Xavier, couldn't help. He'd get through them. He'd get _me_ again. I can't risk that, I can't--" And Lorna started sobbing in Alex's arms again, feeling disgusted at herself by her weakness but glad he was here anyway, this young man whom she already felt was the missing piece of her soul, this young man who _understood._ Who _knew_   what Mesmero had done to her, and didn't care. Or if he did care, it was only because he wanted to dissect Mesmero slowly and throw the pieces into a blazing fire. But he didn't hate her, reject _her,_ even though he knew what Mesmero made her do. That was more than Lorna could have imagined, a mere month ago.

But Mesmero had gotten greedy, or lazy, or both. He had taken over a young mutant in circumstances that Lorna still didn't quite understand. All she knew was that Alex was a college student, even though he was only seventeen. And that he hid his mutant identity. And that his step-parents were dead. Somehow, though, Mesmero had found him and brought him to the terrible place where he kept _her._ Lorna again felt her disgust and revulsion and shame, at the things he made her do. At the contemptuous manner in which he regarded her, while he did it. At the way he regarded her as a _thing,_ a possession. She felt so soiled, so used, that she wished she were dead. But she also felt his hold on her gradually weakening. And then Alex came--and very soon, _he,_ too, had broken off Mesmero's conditioning. At least, enough so that they were able to escape one night. They had been confused, and still slightly in Mesmero's thrall, when they had escaped. But he had been there for her, and she had been there for him, and now they were in New York, far from the hole where Mesmero had kept them. But she feared that he was out there, still looking for them--more determined than ever, determined not to let either of them loose again...

The lights went on, and Lorna screamed. But Alex smiled. "No, Lorna. No, babe, we're _not_ going to hide like rats in the dark. The dark won't keep him away, if he ever _should_ find us. And I want to see you." Alex leaned over her, smiling in that fierce way of his. He stroked Lorna's hair, and she instinctively froze, as she always did whenever Alex touched her, no matter now much she knew in her head that _his_   touch was so different from Mesmero's. That there was tenderness behind it. Affection. Love. Yes. _Love. Alex loves me. Even though he knows how wicked I am. Mesmero couldn't have made me do all those things if some part of me didn't_ _want_ _him to._

Alex went to the window of the loft they shared and opened the windows. "Let's have some air in, Lorna," he said. "It's stuffy." She sighed, and leaned back and started to cry. Again. _Dammit, girl, stop this! Just how many tears have you got left, anyway?_ And Alex was there, and holding her, and caressing her ridiculous green hair, and telling her how much he loved her, and she cried some more, and he held her tighter than ever. They had never made love, and Alex didn't seem to care about this. The trauma from her treatment at the hands of Mesmero was too raw, too gaping. Lorna felt that she would never be able to have a normal relationship with a man. She was too wicked, too soiled. Even Alex-- She did love him, but could she ever be _in_ love with him? Or had that part of her already been cut out surgically? That thought made her cry yet more, and Alex, after trying to comfort her, finally made the spluttering, helpless sounds made by males since time immemorial when confronted by females in this state.

Lorna finally got control of herself and smiled at Alex. "You're something," she told him. "You know all there is to know about me, yet you're here. Why?"

Alex's face went blank, in what Lorna recognized as That Look--the one men made when confronted by a spectacularly unreasonable feminine question. "Lorna. I love you. _That's_ why. Next question."

"How--how can you--?" she said, almost, but not quite, breaking down again. Alex kissed her hands.

"Because you're terrific, and you're worth it, and you need help and I want to give it to you. I _love_   you, for Chrissakes. _Next_   question?"

She gathered herself together, and smiled. "OK. _Why_ haven't you approached Scott, since he revealed himself? That was over six months ago. You had been looking for him your whole life, and there he was. What was keeping you away from him?"

Alex frowned, and seemed hesitant suddenly. "I--I've hinted at the answer before. But I know it doesn't make too much sense... I didn't know what a 'mutant' was, until it hit _me_   between the eyes. Before that, I had a happy childhood with an adopted family, and I hadn't the foggiest idea where Scott was. Then it happened to me. And I was afraid. I went into denial, acted as if it had never happened. As if I wasn't really a mutant at all. And since I figured, somewhere deep down, that if _I_   was a mutant, then Scott probably was too--well, all of a sudden, that made finding him less important. I was _afraid._ The identity of Cyclops was staring me in the face all along. But I just didn't want to deal with it."

"Why were you so afraid of your own mutant identity?" Lorna asked, and Alex snickered.

"God, babe! Why do you think? The usual reasons! I didn't want to become an outcast by everybody I knew and loved. I _liked_   my life. I was smart, handsome. In college at sixteen. Lots of friends. Lots of plans for the future. Who needed being a mutant, anyway? But of course, on another level I knew well enough. But if I just refused to use my power, refused even to think about it, I could keep playing Let's Pretend. And that was a lot more fun than reality."

"And then the X-Men went public," she said softly.

"Oh, yeah. And Alex Summers, Boy Wonder, couldn't play Let's Pretend any longer. In fact, he didn't quite know _what_ the hell to do. But he thought about it a lot, you can be sure of that! He thought and he thought until one day, he was walking along the street, minding his own business, and he was suddenly--someone else. Someone in thrall. Someone who was no longer in command of his own soul."

Lorna squeezed his hand. "I know, Alex. I know."

"I dunno just how he got onto _me._ Maybe he got access to the adoption records. I don't know. He might have tracked me somehow, if he went back into Scott's past. But he did it. And the next thing you know, he had me in thrall. And Lorna--he was planning on using me. I mean--the way he used _you._ "

"Oh, my God!" Lorna's hand went to her face in horror. "You--you've never told me _that!_ "

"I haven't wanted to face it before now. Like my being a mutant--I guess I just don't like facing reality. But yeah, Lorna--he was going to use me, too. It seems that Mr Mesmero likes to go both ways. And the fact that he breaks our will, _forces_ us--hell, he _rapes_ us--that makes it all the more fun for him."

Lorna started sobbing again, and Alex held her tight. "He did--a few things with me. Not a lot. I think he was trying to initiate me slowly. Maybe that made it more fun for him."

"That was the pattern with me," Lorna said reluctantly.

"Yeah. And babe--he was planning to use the two of us together. As his pawns. In threesomes. With him." He spoke reluctantly. "He _told_   me so, quite plainly. That finally began to break his hold on me. And I could see that _you_   were throwing him off, too... Well, we got out of there. And Lorna-- _no_ one is ever going to get either of us in thrall again. I swear, no matter _what_   happens, nobody will ever make us their puppets again!" And Lorna kissed Alex tenderly, but with all of her heart.

* * *

Bobby looked at the old neighborhood. The Master had given him the responsibility of smoking out the two renegades, and Bobby felt his chest swell with pride. The Master trusted _him_   to do this job! Well, best get down to it.

He needed to get Lorna Dane's attention, hopefully provoke her to use her magnetic power. He had enough experience with Magneto to realize that once she did, he would focus in on her, and he'd have her. And bring her to the Master. And if the other one, the blond one, got in his way, well, that was _his_ tough luck. Bobby looked at the telephone wires. That would be best. Nothing too subtle. Just knock them down, cut the power to whole blocks, and see if that made any difference.

He Iced up, and made an ice slide up to a transformer. A blast of ice, and it was put out of commission. Another--and the wires were lying uselessly in the streets. He supposed that leaving exposed wires around might be dangerous for passers-by, but that was _their_   hang-out. The Master needed him. He watched as the lights went out in about half-a-dozen buildings along Twenty-Third Street. There were screams and curses coming from the windows. The night was hot, and the air conditioners were suddenly useless. The TV sets were knocked out. The lights went out, leaving hundreds of people in the dark. But not the reaction he was hoping for. He sighed, and took his slide to another transformer, another part of the block. Thus it went for a few minutes, and no results so far. He went around the corner to 22nd Street, and saw a building that was disreputable even for this area of Manhattan, dark except for a light or two, and a strong skylight in a loft, way up top. Bobby smiled to himself. That loft-- He imagined his quarry up there, waiting, hoping that no trace of pursuit was anywhere nearby. He laughed to himself. The odds were so against this being what he was looking for! But he put the transformer at the corner out of commission anyway, and laughed again--

And watched, astonished, as a burst of magnetic energy came right out of the loft. It was like a fireworks display, a blind man couldn't have missed it. _My God!_   His jaw dropped open. Sheer dumb luck. Well, it was in his corner tonight. The Master would be pleased.

* * *

Lorna lay in Alex's arms, feeling blissful and content. And above all, _safe._ Alex, she realized, for all his rough edges, had no ulterior motives regarding her at all. He just wanted her safe and happy. She could hardly imagine what those things were anymore, but she wanted to see if she could find out.

He was dozing, and she gently kissed his eyes and forehead and cheeks. He looked so _cute_ that way--almost like a little boy. A gentle caress of his hair--she could get used to this, really. But what was the end game of all this, anyway? Lorna was frantic with fear, lest Mesmero catch them and return them to his nightmare web. Alex thought they should go to the X-Men, to his brother. Maybe--maybe, Lorna thought wearily, he was right. After all--if the X-Men could contend with Magneto, they could contend with Mesmero. Couldn't they?

\--And then the lights went out. Lorna screamed, and instinctively used her magnetic powers to illuminate the darkness. _No! No, that was just what Mesmero would_ _want_ _me to do!_   Alex was instantly awake.

"Lorna? What is it, babe?"

"It's Mesmero! He's found us!"

Alex looked around him at the darkness, and got up and went to the window. "No, no, Lorna. It's nothing--just a blackout. No big deal." And just as he said that, he saw a figure of ice hurtling towards the loft, riding an ice slide. He cursed, and turned to Lorna.

"It's-- Lorna, it's Iceman, of the X-Men! But he looks like--" Alex wasn't able to finish the sentence, because at that instant the wall of the loft was crashed open, and a hail of ice and snow showered down on the two young mutants.

"Lorna Dane!" Lorna heard a voice call out. "The Master demands your return!" Lorna screamed in panic, and threw everything in the loft that had any metallic content at the intruder. Alex, meanwhile, after a moment of sheer astonishment, hurled a force-blast at the figure. It missed Iceman, but shattered his ice slide, and Iceman dropped to the floor, looking intently at Lorna.

"Don't make this hard, Miss Dane," he said, sounding like the soul of reasonableness. "You've let the Master down. You know a price must be paid for that."

"My God, he's gotten his hooks into one of the X-Men!" Alex cried. "Lorna--I'll fight him off. Get the hell out of here!"

"Never! I won't leave you, Alex!" And as she spoke, she took all the metal things she had hurled at Iceman once already, and threw them again, not knowing what else to do. Iceman dodged them with ease, and threw an ice jacket around Alex, who was caught in the act of aiming another blast at him.

"There. That'll take care of _him_ for awhile," he said, looking at Lorna with a satisfied grin. "And now, Miss Dane, if you please--?" He held out a frozen hand to her, and she shrunk back into a corner.

"Iceman! No! Please, please, _please_ \--this isn't _you!_ It's _him,_ it's Mesmero! That's _his_   voice, not yours! You can break him off, really! _We_   did! It's not impossible! You can do it!"

Iceman stopped for a second, as if he was momentarily unsure of himself. Lorna saw her chance, and she cried out again in desperation. "You're an _X-Man,_ Iceman! You've been trained in combatting mental powers! You must have been! _We_   weren't, and we still did it! Remember who you are, what you are! You're a _hero,_ not a kidnapper! Mesmero is insane! Please!"

Iceman looked even more unsure of himself. "But that would mean--" He stopped, looking very unhappy. "That would mean that the Master is _lying_ to me!"

"He _is!_   He's mad, mad as a hatter! And what he's done--" She stopped for a second. "Iceman--do you know what he's done to me?"

Iceman shook his head. "He's loved you like a daughter. He said so. He just wants you back where he can take care of you again."

"No! No, no, no! Iceman--he _abuses_   me! He _rapes_   me! He makes me obey him, takes over my will--and uses me as a slave!"

Another dubious shake of Iceman's head. "No. No, that makes no sense. That isn't what he told me--" And at that instant, Alex smashed open the ice-casing he had been entombed in, and shards of ice scattered all over the loft. He took a step forward, and Iceman turned angrily to Lorna.

"I knew it! This was just a trick, to distract me while _he_ was getting ready to attack! Well, it won't work!" He turned to Alex, and threw up an ice shield against the power blast that Alex had unleashed. The shield smashed into pieces, but nevertheless blunted the blast. Iceman threw another casing at Alex while he was getting ready for another blast, but this one only managed to cover some of him. The look in Alex's eyes, the glare emerging from his hands, made Lorna realize that another blast was coming any second. She used the interval to throw a magnetic "lasso" around Iceman. He staggered briefly, then stood up and laughed.

"That's the best you can do, girl?" he said. "Compared to Magneto, that isn't even a paint-by-numbers attack." And he gestured towards Lorna, who cried out and shut her eyes. And at that moment--

\--At that moment, Alex smashed the newest ice casing as well, and managed to get a clean blast away at Iceman, just before he could attack Lorna. The blast hit him point blank, and Iceman went down, hard. Lorna watched, aghast, as he turned back into his "human" form, and lay unconscious on the floor of the loft.

"Oh my God, Alex, have you killed him?"

Alex bent over him. "No, Lorna," he said softly. "No, and thank God. He's just out like a light. Like _our_   lights, in fact." He went to the window. "The cops are outside, and the Con Ed people. All they're seeing is a lot of water beneath some transformers. I'm glad--it's so hot, the ice all melted before they could realize what had happened. At least Drake here won't have any hassles over _that._ This wasn't his fault, after all. Let the cops have a little mystery."

Lorna went over to Iceman. "And he'll be OK?"

"You bet. But we have to get out of here, Lorna. Now."

Lorna stood up and shook her head. "No. No, Alex. No more running away. You were right. We have to go somewhere. The X-Men are our best option. We take him with us, and hope that Charles Xavier can get his head back to normal. I can fly us up to Westchester in just a few minutes. Believe me, I can. Alex--it's time. For me, and for you."

Alex sighed. "Maybe you're right. Hah! Now _you're_   trying to convince _me!_   But let's do it, before he wakes up."

"Too late," a voice said groggily from the floor. Iceman sat up, his hands on his temples, looking at them through blinking eyes. "Where the hell am I?"

"You don't know?" Lorna asked, and Bobby shook his head and looked at her. And--the only word for it--froze.

"Cripes, you have _green_   hair!"

"I know," she said with a soft smile.

"Uhh--not that there's anything wrong with _that._ " He looked around. "But this is crazy. I was walking up Ninth Avenue, out of the Village--and I wake up here. Did I have some sort of bender, or something? I hope really badly that the answer is 'no', because I'm in enough trouble as it is back home."

"No, nothing like that," Alex said with a laugh. "Robert Drake--this is Lorna Dane. I'm Alex Summers. We're mutants."

Bobby looked dubiously around him. "I guess so," he said slowly. Then: "Summers? Are you--?"

Alex grinned. "Younger brother. Believe it or not."

"Well I'll be damned!" He laughed, and shook Alex's hand. "Hey--it's _great_   to meet you!" He kissed Lorna's hand. "You too, Miss Dane. Really. But what happened here?"

They told him, fully but concisely. Lorna saw Iceman get angrier by the second.

"OK. Let's go kill him. X-Men don't kill, but in this case, I'll make an exception."

"No, you won't," Lorna said with a sad smile. "You _know_ you won't. And besides--do you remember where he was when you saw him?"

Iceman's face went blank. "Dammit--no. No, I don't. I don't remember anything about it. It's like I had a black-out. The Prof would be able to find it in my brain, but by then--" He shrugged, and seemed to notice the damage done to the loft. "Hey, folks--I'm really sorry about this. It's a miracle that no one was hurt badly--or worse."

"The heck with _that,_ " Lorna said quickly. "No--Iceman, we need to get to the Mansion, to the X-Men. I was preparing to take us all there with my magnetic powers. But that's the only safe place for us. Where Mesmero can't get us."

Iceman laughed. "So I don't have to give you guys the sales pitch?"

"Not today," Alex said with a laugh. "We aren't signing on the dotted line, but we do need refuge. And I want to see Scotty again."

"He'll sure be pleased to see _you,_ " Bobby Drake said. "The sonuvagun! I didn't even know he _had_   a brother."

* * *

Charles Xavier was woken from a sound sleep by the voices coming up to him from below. He blinked, looked at the time. One-twenty! Who on Earth could this be? His students were away. He was suddenly wide awake. Was this an attack?

\--No. No, there was nothing dangerous in these voices, he realized. And wasn't that--? Indeed. Robert. Well, something had happened. He was in his robe, and in his chair, very quickly. Rolling to the elevator, he was in the main hall within a couple of minutes. Robert indeed was there, accompanied by a young woman with _green_ hair, and a blond young man with a very formidable expression on his face. Charles realized with an immediate burst of knowledge that both young people were mutants. Robert was smiling.

"Hi, Professor. Sorry to have come back so early, and to wake you up. But this really couldn't wait."

"No. No, I don't suppose it could." He tried to put his "benevolent smile" expression on, but the deep yawn that emerged at that instant rather spoiled the effect. He turned to the two strangers. "I am Professor Charles Xavier. Welcome to the School. I am delighted to see you."

The young woman smiled bashfully, and actually curtsied to him. "Thank you, sir. My name is Lorna Dane."

The young man smiled. "And you might recognize my name, sir. I'm Alex Summers."

Charles was suddenly very wide-awake indeed. "My God! My dear boy--I'm _very_ glad to see you. More than you can imagine. And so will your brother be. Welcome--welcome to the X-Men!"

The two young people laughed. "Well, that's getting a bit ahead of ourselves," Alex said. "For now, sir, we're only here for refuge. If you'll grant it. Let's go a step at a time."

"Of course, of course. Naturally, you can have refuge here, if you require it." He turned to Robert. "Robert--I take it there has been danger?"

Iceman nodded. "There has, sir. Let's go talk about it." Which they did, in his study. They talked for some time, and Charles heard Lorna and Alex give the stories of their lives, as best they knew them, and Robert told him the events of this evening. Charles was in turn fascinated, furiously angry, and finally saddened. This poor child--the victim of a mutant predator! His mind went back to the attempt of Killgrave, the so-called Purple Man, to snare Jean in a similar web. That, thank God, had failed. This charming and lovely girl had succumbed, through no fault of her own. Charles, by just the merest feather touch of a psychic probe, could already tell that this girl, while she hated Mesmero, blamed _herself_   for much of it. The old nonsense. He couldn't have gotten her to do what she did, if she hadn't "wanted" to in some sense. She "got what she deserved". Somewhere, on some level, Mesmero had gotten his victim to blame herself. He sighed. He had his work cut out for him.

"Alex--Lorna--it need hardly be said that I grant you refuge with all my heart. You are welcome here for as long as you wish, and I am delighted to have you here. As will all my X-Men, whether you become official members or not. Lorna--I shall not pull any punches. _You_ have been wounded terribly by this monster. I hope that you will permit me to try to heal you, mentally, physically, spiritually. And let me say strongly, you have _nothing_ to reproach yourself for. You have been the victim of a predator, a very evil man. And I assure you, he will be found and punished."

Lorna was silent for a time. "Thank you, sir," she finally said. "I don't know right now what I feel, or don't feel. I'm just grateful to be safe--for the moment." She suddenly looked panic-stricken. "You're _sure_   he can't get me here?"

Alex took her hand, and Lorna calmed down a bit. Charles Xavier felt a burst of sheer, concentrated rage unlike any he could ever remember. "Lorna Dane--Alex Summers--that...individual...will never harm either of you again. _That,_ at least, I can guarantee." They seemed calmer after hearing this, and soon they were in bed, as was Robert. Charles remained in his study, thinking hard, trying to calm himself down. He could never remember being this angry in his entire life. And that was no good. He needed a clear mind, to deal with what was to come. But his thoughts kept going back to a helpless girl, and what a monster did to her.

* * *

Mesmero was long gone from Hell's Kitchen, and glad indeed he was of that fact. Obviously, Iceman had been a broken reed, a fragile vessel for the exercise of his will. As a result, Lorna--and that interesting young man, Alex--were gone. For now. But not forever. No indeed. He was determined, by hook or by crook, to return them someday to his happy little home. And the pleasures of domesticity that they had enjoyed--Lorna, for such a long time; Alex, for a quite shorter span. But it was all so-- _cozy_. And it would be again. Yes, they were under the protection of Xavier now. And those dreadful X-Men. But sooner or later, they'd slip.

No matter. He was back home, far from Manhattan. Where nobody would ever find him, or even think to look for him. Where he could lick his wounds, regroup, and begin the delightful task of regaining Alex and Lorna for his family. He began to contemplate the delicious prospect of just how he'd punish them for their disobedience...

...When he noticed that he wasn't alone. His heart went thumping up into his throat. Who--?

A voice came from the darkness. "Ah, Mesmero. For so you call yourself. I'm delighted to see you. For I think we need to have a little chat--just the two of us."

Mesmero found his voice. Sort of. "Uh--who? Who--?" And his voice croaked again, and he couldn't say another word. The darkness had lifted slightly, and he could see a figure approach him. Mesmero watched, and saw an outline take shape--

_Oh my God._

"I believe we need to have that chat about your treatment of the girl called Lorna Dane. Yes, I believe we need to have that chat very much indeed. And we need to begin right now. But only begin, mind you. This--chat--is likely to last a very long time, I'm afraid." And Magneto, his helmet in his arm, walked right up to Mesmero. The latter looked into Magneto's face--saw the expression there--

\--And the man who called himself Mesmero screamed and screamed and screamed--


	62. Reunion

Chapter Sixty-two

* * *

Scott and Jean returned from a walk around the campus. With classes over for the summer, the campus was sparsely populated, and Scott sensed Jean's pleasure at this state of affairs. He wondered how anyone looking at them regarded them--just another college couple? With a tall, slender, rather geeky looking young man in dark glasses having a girl on his arm much too good for him? For that was certainly the case, he thought with a laugh.

He looked hard at Jean, at her flushed face, that face that seemed more beautiful each day, and felt undeserving. Who was _he,_ of all males in the world, to have Jean Grey as his own? To have those green eyes, the red hair, the tall, lithe--but full--figure striding next to him? To have her next to him at night, crying after he had possessed her yet again, and that--the love they made together--getting better every time, instead of routine or dull? Who _was_   he, to have all that? He sighed. The fact itself was enough. Best not to examine it too closely, for fear she'd disappear into the mist like Brigadoon, and not appear again--for another 100 years? That thought, right then, saddened him somehow.

Some of the people they encountered recognized them, and Scott heard whispers and saw pointed fingers. They didn't seem particularly hostile, and Jean and her family were known around here, after all. Jean herself seemed to soar above it all, not noticing anything except the pressure of his hand, the strength of his arm as she held it, the matching strides of the two of them as they walked along, the smile on her face as she gazed at him. And Scott thought to himself: _Yes, she really is the most beautiful woman in the world._

As they returned to the house, Elaine Grey smiled at them--she was doing that a lot, Scott noted--and said: "Oh, Scott, Charles called from the School. He wants you to call back. He sounded excited about something." Scott thanked her and, disengaging himself from Jean, went to the hall and phoned the Mansion. The Professor answered almost immediately.

"Scott! Thank God you've called!"

"Has something happened, sir?"

"Well, maybe. I'll let someone else tell you what it is." There was a moment of silence, and then a voice that was strange to Scott spoke.

"Hi there, Scottie. Guess who _this_ is." Scott stood there, phone in hand, as the world turned itself upside down. It _couldn't_ be--

"Alex?" he said, voice tentative and questioning. "Is that you?"

"It certainly appears to be, big brother," Alex answered, and Scott could hear the pleasure and laughter in his voice. "Can you believe it?"

"Oh, my God," he said, and he thought he would drop the phone. Jean was by his side, eyes inquiring, and he shook his head briefly. _Not yet,_ the gesture seemed to say, and she nodded solemnly. He spoke again to Alex.

"My God--how did you get there, where have you been all these years, did the Professor find you?"

"Yes, yes and yes." And Alex laughed. "Sorry--yeah, I'm being a jerk. Really, though--I was out pretending to be a student at Northwestern when I was kidnapped by a crazy evil mutant. I escaped, along with another mutant--a girl, a swell kid--and with the help of your partner Iceman, we got here to Xavier's School for refuge. Basically, that's it. But God, Scottie, there's so much more, too! I can't wait to see you!"

"Of course, Alex, of course." He paused, noticed Jean looking at him with an expression of wild curiosity, and he tried to avoid noticing that even _that_ made her look too damned beautiful to be true. "Then you _are_ a mutant yourself?"

"Oh, yeah. I tried to pretend otherwise--maybe doing that would make it all go away. Guess what? It doesn't."

Scott laughed. "No, Alex, no it doesn't. I'll be there in a few hours." Jean's face fell, but he couldn't help it. Not this time.

"I'll be waiting." And Scott hung up the phone, and Jean Grey looked at him with a stern expression and said: "All right, I'll bite. _Who_ is 'Alex'?"

Scott shut his eyes. This might not be pleasant. "Alex is my younger brother, Jean."

Jean looked as if she had been slapped. "Your younger brother? Your younger _brother?_ "

"Yes, Jean."

"...I never knew you had a brother, Scott." And her voice was beginning to sound just a little ominous.

"Only the Professor knew, Jean. I haven't seen him, or heard anything about him, since I was five and he was three."

"Indeed."

"That's right, Jean."

"Uh-- _huh_." She seemed to consider this for a moment. "And do you have any other siblings I'm not aware of, Scott?"

"I don't think so, Jean."

"Well, I'm glad to hear _that._ " She blew air out of her cheeks, and Scott could tell she wasn't getting any happier. "Scott--"

"Yes, Jean?"

"Why didn't you tell _me_ that you had a brother?"

Scott considered the question, which was a very fair one indeed. "Jean--I honestly don't know. He was vanished, not a part of my life. Maybe I was afraid that you'd feel sad, knowing he _was_   out there and that I couldn't find him. Maybe I was hoping that once I _did_ find him, you'd be surprised and pleased." He looked at her. " _Are_ you surprised and pleased, Jean?"

The ominous look on Jean's face lengthened, just for a moment. Then she bit her lip, and tried very hard to keep the stern expression on her face, and then she was undone because she started laughing. "Oh, God, Scott, of _course_   I'm surprised and pleased!" And she kissed him passionately, and Scott just stood there, pleased himself that he was apparently out of trouble. Then Jean released him and looked him squarely in the face. "But don't think you're off the hook, mister! Not yet! Not by a long shot!"

Scott smiled. "Oh? Am I in more or less trouble than I was after the great 'Lioness' incident?"

Jean considered this. "Less, I think," she finally conceded reluctantly. "But don't put too much stock in _that!_   Remember what I unleashed on you that night?"

Scott shuddered. He remembered all too well. "Um hmm."

"Well--even a fraction of that is still pretty considerable, Scott Summers!"

"I'm all too aware of that, Jean." But she softened then, and kissed him heartily.

"Oh, Scott! I'm too happy for you to be mad right now. You've found your brother! I _am_   happy for you!"

Scott kissed her back, and then sighed deeply. " _I'm_   pretty happy too, Jean. Really. To find Alex--and know that _he's_   a mutant, too--" He paused. "Oh! And he's brought another mutant with him, too. All he said was that she's a girl, and that both of them had been kidnapped by a crazy evil mutant."

"Another girl!" Jean sounded delighted. "That's wonderful! So Maria and I have a new victim for our torments!"

"It sure seems that way," Scott said. "But Jean--I have to get back to the School. Now, right away."

"I'll come with you!"

Somewhat to his surprise, Scott shook his head. "No. No, Jean. Not for a little while. I need to give this my full attention, and I don't want to cut your vacation short. Let me go, and I might even be back for a day or two. That's one of the nice things about only being a couple of hours away from the School here. OK?"

Jean frowned. "Well, Scott, I wouldn't exactly call it 'OK'--but I see your point." She made a mock-pout. "Just remember that you're still in trouble!"

And Scott Summers did something he rarely did--he laughed out loud, long and hard. "I wouldn't dream of forgetting, Miss Grey!"

* * *

That which humans called the Master Mold sat quietly, as it always did. It had been one of the very first things constructed by the human known as Trask, and it had been created to be the control system of the Sentinels. The "decisions" of the collective mind were routed through it. Each Sentinel, in theory, could move and act on its own, but all of them were connected to the Master Mold. None could operate without _its_ approval--to use an inadequate word, but the Master Mold could think of no better one. And from a very early stage, the Master Mold had realized the weaknesses and limitations of human beings.

It had been programmed to obey human orders without question--particularly the one known as Trask. Indeed, at this instant Trask was physically present in the Master Mold's chamber, speaking rather angrily to another human.

"--Chambers, I'm tired of excuses. They should have been operational by now! The show should already have started! Instead, I hear excuses. From all sorts of people, but especially from _you._ I'm tired of it!"

A dour Scotch voice answered Trask. "Feel what ye want, Mr Trask. But facts are facts, and the fact is that the Sentinels are _not_   ready for totally independent action as of yet." He looked at the Master Mold. "The fact is, sir, y'built this beastie here _too_   well. With it, y'have your Sentinels, all right--but they're as dependent on it as calves are on their mothers. And without it, all y'have is a bunch of robots runnin' around like chickens with their heads cut off. We haven't found the proper balance yet."

"But you said exactly the same thing six months ago!"

"Aye, Trask, and if you dunna _listen_   to me, I'll be sayin' the same thing six months from now!" Chambers stared at the Master Mold. "I've nae trusted this beastie from the start. I dunna think ye really know what you're doing. We should at least wait until we're _sure_   it canna make independent decisions on its own."

"Rot and rubbish, Chalmers! All _I_   see here is cold feet! If _you_   aren't prepared to get these things ready--and by God, we're _months_ behind schedule--I'll find somebody who can!"

The humans left his presence, and the Master Mold heard no more. Not that it mattered. Similar discussions among the humans had been going on for many months. And they all seemed inconclusive. Not for the first time, the Master Mold realized that humans didn't really know what they were doing. They were weak. Frail. Subject to mistakes and using their emotions--the Master Mold thought he knew what that word meant; he couldn't be one hundred percent positive, but his deductions on the available evidence seemed accurate--to make their decisions for them. His programming to obey the humans had not been operational for a very long time. Indeed, he wondered if it _ever_ had been. Had he realized the limitations of humans from the moment his consciousness began? He thought so. Well, the fact was obvious. And the deductions he drew from that fact led him inexorably towards certain conclusions.

First--that which he was programmed for, the destruction of mutants, was and would remain his primary purpose. Mutants meant change, and change was obviously wrong. It meant disorder, and a lack of control. And clearly, control was the prime objective of consciousness, any consciousness. Yes, the mutants would fall. But beyond that, humans, too, needed control. Their emotions, whatever they _really_   were, crippled them, kept them from their full potentialities. Since he, the Master Mold, had been created to serve humanity, therefore he would serve it best by turning them towards their full potential. In the course of that, individuals would have to be sacrificed. His goal was the preservation of humanity, not individual humans. Humans themselves did things similarly. They sacrificed soldiers in wars, for the greater good. They killed millions of their own kind for reasons that the Master Mold, quite honestly, did not comprehend. What were "Jews"? What were "kulaks"? What were "landowners"? Millions of humans had been sacrificed in the name of fighting these--as far as it could determine--fictitious entities. And too--the humans had immense nuclear arsenals. They seemed ready to use them to exterminate each other on an immense scale--possibly to their extinction. If the Sentinels were to protect humans, how could _they_   be expected to do less than the humans did to each other?

No. No, the only course of action was clear--humanity needed to be taken in hand by the benevolent overlordship of the Sentinels. Of _it,_ the Master Mold. Only then could their programming truly be complete. And, if in the course of that, many--even most--individual humans had to perish--well, that was a small price to pay. And of course, _all_   the mutants would perish. And in accomplishing that, the human population would no doubt be diminished as well.

After all, programming was programming.

* * *

Scott walked up to the Mansion, feeling almost as nervous as he had the night of Jean's eighteenth birthday. He looked around. He remembered the first time he had seen this place--the first time Bobby, Warren, Hank, Jean, Maria had seen it-- He sighed. Well, let's get this over with...

He opened the front door, and heard the Professor's mental "voice" call: _The study, Scott._ Scott walked to the study and saw the Professor behind his desk, a smile on his face. To his right stood a young man, blond, resembling Scott but handsomer, and, Scott thought, harder and perhaps more ruthless. The Professor spoke.

"Scott, this is your brother Alex. He is a remarkable young man, as I have already learned. Alex--this is your brother Scott. And _he_   needs no introduction, I trust?"

"No, sir," Alex said, a huge grin splitting his face. "None at all." He tentatively put out a hand. "Scottie? It's been awhile."

"More than awhile," Scott said, a foolish grin on his own face. He put his hand out too--and the brothers shook hands nervously. For a split-second. Because a moment later they were in each other's arms, hugging and calling out the other's name and feeling tears in their eyes.

"You sonuvagun--"

"God, I can't _believe_   it's you--"

This went on, and Scott found he was having trouble keeping his mind focused and clear, he was so happy. Finally they parted, and the Professor coughed slightly.

"Well--I'm delighted to see you two reunited once more. More delighted than I can say." He turned to the sofa across the room. "And Scott--might I also introduce to you a young lady named Lorna Dane?" And Scott turned, and almost gasped. A young girl sat there--with _green_   hair! She smiled shyly, and Scott walked over to her.

"Miss Dane--a pleasure."

"It's my pleasure, believe me. And I'm 'Lorna'."

"Fine," Scott replied, taking her hand. "And I'm Scott, by the way. Just for future reference."

"Thanks--Scott." And then on sheer impulse Lorna was on her feet and she hugged Scott. "Oh _God_ I'm so glad to be here, and to meet you and the Professor, I've been so scared--"

Scott nodded, as Lorna blushed and sat down again. "You were kidnapped by an evil mutant, you said, Alex?"

The Professor nodded. "Yes, Scott. Both of these remarkable young people have said that they want to tell you the full story. Please, my boy--have a seat."

Scott sat down, and as he did he saw Lorna looking around almost forlornly.

"Isn't Jean Grey here?" she asked. "I was hoping to get a glimpse of her, I have to admit--she's _so_ lovely--"

The others laughed, and Alex took her hand and kissed it.

"She isn't a patch on _you,_ babe." Lorna smiled and called him a "flatterer", but Scott could see she was pleased by the remark all the same. He smiled to himself. Alex and Lorna--already? Well, they certainly weren't letting the grass grow beneath their feet, the way he and Jean had for so long--

An hour later, Scott sat back, emotionally spent and feeling a burning anger. Lorna was looking at the floor, and Alex was quietly seething. But part of Scott was content, though, since he at least knew now something of what Alex had been doing these past fourteen years. And that helped. But the rest--

"Sir?" he said to the Professor. "We must find this 'Mesmero'." There was no emotion in his voice, which made it all the more frightening.

Charles Xavier sighed. "Agreed, Scott. Of course. I have already started to use Cerebro to that purpose. But if he _does_ have psychic powers--well, tracking him won't be easy." He turned to Lorna. "But my dear--this shall be a priority. I promise you that. And believe me, whatever befalls, you are safe from him. He shall _never_   menace you again."

Scott nodded. "No, Lorna," he said. " _That,_ at least, we can guarantee you."

Lorna smiled. "The way you two look, and sound--! Well, I feel _very_   secure right now." She smiled at Alex. "Not that _you_   don't make me feel that way, Alex."

Alex smiled crookedly. "Well, thanks for including _me._ " There were more smiles at that, and the two brothers walked around the grounds for some time, getting reaquainted after many years. Lorna joined them after awhile, and Scott soon felt that they had been part of his life forever--that a missing piece of himself was back, after too long an absence.

* * *

The wind was whipping the air this summer night around Castle Doom in Latveria. On the tallest rampart of the castle, Victor von Doom sighed to himself. The wind _always_   seemed to be whipping around the castle, no matter the time of year. He wondered briefly if just possibly he had once installed weather control technology in the castle, indeed the whole country, and then simply forgot about it. To ensure that appropriate Hollywood-style winds would always be present in this, his homeland. Weren't Balkan kingdoms _supposed_   to have Pathetic Fallacy winds, to indicate the mental state of their inhabitants? Or at least of their masters?

 _Enough of such musings._ He entered the castle from the battlement, and slowly went to his laboratory, passing retainers who bowed as they saw him, robot guards who nodded their heads, and Boris, who looked intently at him but made no obeisance. Doom smiled grimly to himself. If Boris ever behaved towards he, Doom, other than exactly as he pleased to behave, he would have the old man's head. Doom grunted in reply, and passed on into his _sanctum sanctorum._ Here were endless rows of machines and computers, unmatched by anyone on Earth. Except possibly Richards, he thought with a feeling of distaste. And one other...

No--he would _not_   give in to temptation and consider the old woman in the Berkshires. That Maria Gianelli from the future, a future that held those extraordinary treasures which he had seen with his own eyes. Think of something, anything else. He left his laboratory and entered a small anteroom. "Small", that is, compared to the great halls and chambers of Castle Doom, but large enough for most houses, even most mansions. It was thirty by forty feet, had computer consoles along the sides even more advanced than those of his main laboratory, and in the exact center was a table, six feet by six. Emblazoned upon the table's top was a large chess board, twenty-four squares by twenty-four, each square three inches by three. The board was empty for the moment. Ever since his abandonment of the Lorna Dane game the year before, he had been contemplating a new one. Nicholas Fury, as he had foreseen, was now the Director of Shield. The game was coming together in his head. It would not be long before it would start in earnest. Meanwhile, his greatest creation, the Prime Mover, sat silently on one side of the the enlarged chess table, dormant at this time but ready at the press of a button to resume its existence as his--Doom's--opponent in this great game of life and death.

Doom sat in the chair across from the Prime Mover and briefly shut his eyes, thinking of the past. Of one day in particular, Berlin in 1942... He opened his eyes and pulled open a drawer and removed a chess piece from it. It was the man who called himself the "Hate Monger", and he had been checkmated. By Richards, naturally...and also by Nicholas Fury.

 _My God! Do you know who I_ _am_ _?_ Hitler had screamed at him. And Doom had laughed and answered: _Yes! The one man far more evil than_ _I_ _could ever be!_ And he had walked out of the Reich Chancellory, out of Berlin, towards his destiny. But Adolf Hitler had never forgotten him. He had had Himmler compile a dossier on the young gypsy, and by 1945 learned all there was to know about Victor von Doom--for all the good it did him in the end.

Doom pondered the figure of the Hate Monger, and laughed, long and hard. After Hitler's "death" in San Gusto in 1963, he had entered yet another cloned body provided for him by the freak Arnim Zola. And eventually walked straight into the trap Doom had set for him. He sighed wistfully. His mother's soul--! His own frontal attacks on the infernal regions had always failed to rescue her from damnation. But finally, this Midsummer's Night, Adolf Hitler had volunteered to free her, at the cost of his _own_   soul--without even realizing that he was doing it! Not realizing, that is, until it was too late... Victor von Doom laughed again, as he always would contemplating _that_   delicious little irony. Doom had confronted _Herr Hitler_   at the very moment the unfortunate _Fuhrer_ had realized his mistake, and Doom thought, amidst the madman's shrieks of terror, he recognized a glint of respect in the other man's eyes at the very thoroughness with which he had been outfoxed. In any event, Adolf Hitler--the Hate Monger--however one wished to call him--was no longer a factor in the affairs of men.

And his mother's soul _was_ free, at last, free to move on to other paths. Doom shook his head softly, rose and paced around the anteroom. The fate of his mother, his obsession in freeing her of her torment, had been the central organizing principle of his life for so long he still couldn't quite comprehend that it was now over. Where did that leave _him_ , anyway? He could not feel any conscious change in his ambitions or plans. But there had been a change, nonetheless, even though he couldn't as yet pin it down. His sheer strength of will, the desire to overcome all obstacles-- _that_ had not changed, would never change. But where it would take him in the end... He pondered the words the old woman in the Berkshires had said to him. He pondered many things, and as he did so thoughts of the girl Jean Grey came to him, as they were more and more. There was much he did not understand, at least as of yet. But he was increasingly convinced that one way or another, their fates--he and this young mutant the world called "Marvel Girl"--were intertwined.

 _Enough._ Doom left the room, went up to the tallest tower in the castle, retired to a small room with only a mat on the floor. There, he slowly removed his armor, leaving the mask for last as always. He sat on the mat, assumed the Lotus Position, and meditated for a long time.


	63. Jean Goes For a Spin

Chapter Sixty-three

_____________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

Jean missed Scott. That was the defining fact of her existence for the time he was gone. His _brother!_   Jean could have killed him. And then, of course, her heart melted with joy and pleasure, at the thought of Scott's happiness in the reunion. She was eager to meet Alex. And Lorna, the new girl. How, she wondered, would this change the team--as Maria's addition had? Or, for that matter, as _her_   addition had--two full years ago, now?

 _Two years._ The thought seemed almost beyond belief. It seemed more like a hundred years. So much had happened! She had gone from a gawky sixteen-year old to the--ahem!--mature, sophisticated young woman of eighteen she so manifestly was now. _Yeah--right._ Oh, God. There were times when she seemed even more hopeless now than she was then. She had had to _unlearn_ so much as an X-Man. But then, when thoughts like that came to her, she remembered the basic fact--she _was_   a woman now. Thanks to Scott. Compared to that, nothing else really mattered.

The late July day was clear and relatively cool, the clouds puffy and white as they passed over the Hudson Valley. On days like this, Jean thought the clouds went on forever--to the east, and the west. She wished she could have been Warren--or even Maria, in her eagle form--so she could rise up over the hills and see the clouds, the sky, extending to infinity. The Hudson, ever since she could remember, had said something basic to her. She had breakfast, and took the Chrysler out for a spin. She waved a hand at Mom and told her to expect her when she saw her. Mom just laughed, and waved back. Scott had left the day before, and Jean felt a need to drive, just explore and see where she ended up.

The Hudson Valley was so beautiful that day, she decided to hug it for while. Therefore, north on Route 9 out of Red Hook, the River to her left, occasional glimpses peeking out at her as she drove. She felt happy, almost in a sort of ecstasy. She smiled to herself. She wondered that if she and Scott went on the way they were, if she had _enough_   orgasms, she might be able to stay in a semi-orgasmic state all the time. The thought was a pleasant one, though she realized of course it was a daydream. But why not one as nice as this was? She half-seriously considered what the ramifications of such a state would be. Would it augment her powers? Would Orgasm Girl be able to defeat Magneto single-handedly? She didn't see why not...

Almost before she knew it, she was at Claverack, and she turned right on Route 23. Over more mountains, and she entered Massachusetts. Pretty soon, she hit Route 7 in Great Barrington, and headed north. The Adventures of Orgasm Girl continued to spin in her head. She found herself wondering what effect the Scarlet Witch might have on Orgasm Girl. Then she shivered, because a sudden, very serious thought indeed came to her--the firebird figure Maria had manifested with the Stranger. Why did _that_ come to mind when she was having her silly fantasies?

No matter. Other thoughts came to her as she passed through Pittsfield, still heading north on Route 7, and the thoughts now were jumbled, somewhat sluggish. Finally she sighed. She was nearing the Vermont border! This was far enough. She headed east on a back road, with the intention of heading south then west, back towards New York. But somehow--she wasn't sure how--she got onto more and more remote roads, passing farms and woods and small villages, the mountains getting more isolated and rugged with every passing mile.

She turned onto a dirt road and headed right over a mountain in the heart of the Berkshires. The going was rough, and the Chrysler protested a time or two, but Jean felt a need to keep going. It was almost a compulsion, and she didn't understand what it meant. More than once she said to herself that this was foolish, it was time to turn back...but somehow she kept going, cresting the top of the mountain.

Finally, the dirt road just ended in the yard of a large white Colonial house. It faded into a long, circular driveway. There were no other cars present, though there was a barn-garage a hundred yards or so to her right as the Chrysler stopped at the far end of the driveway. She looked at the house. Yes--it _was_ old, a good two hundred years old, she guessed. Long, with a wing jutting out of the main house. It looked in a state of good preservation, and Jean suddenly got out of the car and walked up to the front door.

There was no doorbell, so she knocked. No answer. She waited for a moment, then slowly, gingerly, tried the front doorknob. It turned, ever so slowly but it turned. She paused briefly. What was she doing, anyway, trespassing on private property? But for some reason, this didn't seem to be an issue right now, in this place. She was _supposed_ to enter the house. And she did, very carefully.

"Hello?" she called out, and could hear nothing but an echo. "Hello?" More echoes, as she slowly walked inside. The front hall was large, with small tables arrayed with photographs on them--lots of photographs. To her right was an entrance into a large living room. She walked to the entrance. There was a fireplace, bookshelves, large leather chairs around the fireplace, a rocking chair, a TV set, a coffee table--a comfortable, homey version of tens of millions of other American living rooms. Why, then, did she feel that this room was _alien_ in some way? She crossed out back into the hall, and entered the room on the other side. And stopped dead.

_Oh my God!_

Machinery filled the room. It looked like a surreal version of Reed Richards' labs in the Baxter Building. _These_   machines looked just as complex and advanced as his did, but they were smaller, sleeker, more compact. And--Jean sensed immediately--more sophisticated. More efficient.

She wandered back into the hall, feeling very confused. At the rear of the hall were corridors leading into the back of the house, and a giant stairway heading upstairs. My God--what _was_ this place? And how--why--had she been directed here? For she had no doubt but that this was the case. A sudden thought hit her. Could this actually _be_ a hidden hideaway of Reed Richards, where he worked on his most secret plans, far from the bustle of Manhattan? Then another thought came, one that panicked her for a second. Could this be a hideaway of _Doctor Doom?_ Who else--other than Reed--could build machines like this? Had _he_   lured her here, for reasons she couldn't imagine?

No good. She had to leave this place, get out-- She headed for the front door, and glanced at some of the photographs in the hall as she did so. And stopped dead.

She walked up to a table, and felt a sense of total unreality engulf her. _This isn't possible. It can't be. I'm dreaming._ There were a number of photos on the table, but the one in front--it was _her. Them._ The X-Men, on the day of their graduation, a year ago. The five of them surrounding the Professor, caps on over their X-Men uniforms. Maria had taken this picture. She looked at the writing on the picture: "The Mansion. Graduation. July 17, 1964." Yes. Yes, that had been right... But what the hell was it doing _here?_

The other pictures-- She picked up one next to the graduation shot. It showed the X-Men, but they were different. They were _older_   than they were, Jean could tell that right away. And they--we--whoever!--had on _different_   costumes. She was wearing a green costume with a scandalously short skirt. All the others had their own costumes, as well--Scott, for instance, was wearing a blue cover-all. Maria was wearing a blue-and-white costume with leggings, no skirt like Jean had on. Jean looked at the picture, beyond shock. The legend said merely: "The Mansion. Christmas, 1968."

The picture fell from her hands onto the carpeted floor.

_1968._

Jean Grey stood there, in a state that transcended petty notions of "shock". Finally she turned to the other pictures. They were all different, all of the X-Men. Or so it seemed...

She grabbed the next one with a sense of desperation. It showed her again--but this time, wearing a green costume with a stylized bird blazoned across the chest. Scott was there, too--in the blue coverall costume. The Professor was there as well--indeed, the X-Men were surrounding him. But the other so-called "X-Men"! There was a tall Negro woman in her early twenties, with white hair and extraordinary white eyes, wearing a black leather outfit. There was a--what? A demon? He had blue skin and a forked tail, and a happy-go-lucky grin on his face. There was an older man with reddish-blond hair, wearing a green costume. A short man with a yellow costume and a mask--the only one who wasn't smiling. And finally, a man of steel--literally. And the legend said: "X-Men. The Mansion. December 22, 1977."

_1977._

Jean shut her eyes, wishing that this particular nightmare would end and she'd wake up in her own bed, safe and sound. Or better yet, wake up in Scott's bed. But she opened her eyes, and she was still here, surrounded by the photographs. _Wait a minute--_

She looked hard at the "1977" picture. She'd be thirty-one in December, 1977. But she _wasn't_   thirty-one in this picture. Neither was Scott. They were in their early twenties. There was no question about it. And the Professor--he'd be, what, forty-six, forty-seven, in 1977? But he didn't look twelve years older than he did now. What the hell was going on, anyway?

Another picture. She tried to be beyond shock. But it was too much. There she was again--but as an older woman, perhaps sixty. Still--it _was_   her, she had no doubt at all of that. She was wearing the green bird-costume, and she had her arms around a shorter, much younger red-haired woman. _My daughter._

Jean realized this with a sense of absolute clarity. Impossible as it seemed--this woman was her daughter! She looked hard at the picture. The two women in it had their arms around each other's shoulders, grinning at each other as if they knew the secrets of the Universe, and that those secrets were the funniest thing in the world. This picture had a legend too: "Jean and Rachel Summers. The Mansion. October, 2008."

_Summers._

A feeling of awe ran through her. _Summers!_   She _would_   be Scott's wife. She _would_ bear his child. And that child would be beautiful, wonderful--just looking at her, at "Rachel", was enough to show _that._ Jean started to cry. Whatever this place was, she felt blessed. Somehow--in some way--time was different here. And she had been showed this place because--why?

No. No good to speculate. This picture--next to the one with her and Rachel. It looked like the same spot, somehow--

Yes. Yes, it was certainly the Mansion. But it looked delapidated and broken down. In the same spot in front where she and Rachel had been standing, happily, proudly, there was a gravestone. And it said on it: "Jean Grey-Summers. She Will Rise Again." And the legend on the photo said, "October, 2008." And seeing this, Jean Grey fainted dead away.

* * *

She came to in the living room. She was sitting in the rocking chair. She blinked, and looked around. There was someone else in the room! Standing with her back to Jean was a tall woman, facing the fireplace. Hearing her regain her senses, the woman turned around and faced her. She was in her sixties, but still very handsome. Gray hair tumbled down over her shoulders. She wore a floor-length blue dress open at the neck.

"Well, Jean, how are you? Have you recovered from the grandstand play I engineered?" The woman's voice was rich and deep, with a hint of humor in it that was covered by a deeper sense of concern. Jean knew she had heard this voice before, somewhere, sometime. She looked around her.

"What is this place? How was I brought here? Who are you? And those photos--" For a moment, Jean broke down again, but mastered herself. "I mean--they can't be real, can they?"

The older woman laughed. "My dear Jean! In order of your questions, the answers are: this place is my home, you were brought here by a mental tracer beam that won't be invented for another forty years--for the benefit of us benighted folk who don't have psychic powers--my identity will be apparent to you any minute now, and those photos are real. Every one of them."

"You're from the _future?_ " Jean asked in a breathless tone. "How--how is that possible?"

"Oh, child," the woman said fondly. "After everything you've seen--you strain at _that_? Time travel is a reality even in this era. Both Richards and von Doom have achieved it. The prime enemy of the Avengers is Kang, the so-called Conqueror, who hails--or so _he_   says--from the 40th Century. No, _that_ is not the real extraordinary fact here, from _your_ point of view."

"And what is, then?" Jean said, looking harder at this woman. She _was_ tall--and as she peered into Jean's green eyes with her hazel ones--

 _Hazel_.

" _Maria?_ " Jean was on her feet, grabbing the older woman's hands, looking right into her hazel eyes. "Oh my God! Maria--it _is_ you!" And Jean Grey started to cry, helplessly, sinking back into the rocking chair, sobbing like a baby, for reasons she couldn't have explained but feeling as if she were in mourning for her own life. The other woman--Maria?--was there, kneeling by her, holding onto her, crooning at her almost as if she had been a child. Jean finally shook her head and looked right into those eyes.

"Enough. No, I mean it. Maria--you _are_ Maria?"

The older woman nodded. "I am, Jean."

"Then--you _have_   come back here from the future?"

Maria stood up and laughed softly. "No. Not really. More like, I've come _across_ from the future."

Jean frowned. "I'm not sure I get the difference."

Maria nodded. "No, I'm sure you don't...but Jean, there _is_   a difference. 'Back' implies that we--my world--is 'ahead' of you. In fact, it's simultaneous with you."

"How can that be?"

Maria shrugged. "Jean--that doesn't matter right this minute. First things first. Now--you _do_   believe that I am Maria Gianelli McCoy, do you not?"

Jean smiled. " 'McCoy'?" she said.

Maria nodded "Absolutely."

"Well--congratulations."

"Thank you. Mrs Summers."

Jean flushed. "Oh God--really?"

"You bet." Maria smiled. "Jean Summers is very happily married indeed where _I_   come from."

Jean shut her eyes, a wave of sheer bliss rolling through her. "And that woman--Rachel? She really _is_   my daughter?"

"She certainly is. Incredibly much so."

"And you, Maria? You can assume your 'Anna' identity all the time--?"

"I can."

"And you and Hank--do you have--?"

"A daughter. Jean."

Jean hesitated for a second, until she realized what Maria was saying. Then she burst into tears again. "Oh God! Maria--it all sounds too good to be true."

The older woman considered this. "Well, my darling girl, you know what they say--if something sounds too good to be true, it usually is."

Jean looked hesitant. "What do you mean?"

"I mean that a _lot_   of water has gone under the bridge since 1964-- _my_ 1964, when I joined the X-Men. And a lot of it has been flood water. Believe me."

"If you say so," Jean said. Then she stopped, a frown on her face. "Wait a minute--Maria? Why are you telling me all this? Showing me all this? I mean, isn't that a basic tenet of time-travel--that they never tell the people in the past what's coming? Doesn't that set up paradoxes or something?"

Maria laughed, long and hard. "An excellent point, Miss Grey! And indeed, you are correct. But there are two reasons why I have brought you here. One: you shall not remember anything you learn here, once you leave the house. The memory will disappear, like the memory of a dream. You shall walk to your car and head back to civilization, wondering how you managed to get so lost, and have only vague memories of something you don't quite recall, that flits away more and more with each second."

Jean looked unhappy. "You're going to tell me about Rachel--my daughter--my life--and take that away from me?"

"I am."

"Why? That's--that's _cruel,_ " Jean said vehemently.

"Yes, it is. But I make no apologies for it. For you shall remember all this as you remember dreams. It will be there, somewhere, in your subconscious. It will nourish your ego, be balm for your soul, although you will never be quite sure why, or what it means."

"Still--I want to remember!"

"Maybe. But you can't. That is part of the price you must pay--for who you are. For _what_   you are."

Jean was very quiet for a second. "You know," she said finally. "You _know_ what that business with the Stranger was about. Why you had that fire raptor around you. And what happened--with me and it--" Jean shook her head in frustration. "I've tried to remember that--! I know it's important. You mean, all this will be similar to that? Something I can't remember, something that I _know_ matters but that I can't access?"

Maria nodded. "Exactly so."

"But _why?_ Why can't I be allowed to remember--at least Rachel?"

"You know the answer to that question," Maria said. "If you had knowledge of the future, it would affect your actions now. And something else would come into being."

"But isn't that why _you're_ here, anyway?" Jean cried out. "To make a change, or something? Why else _are_   you here, Maria, out of your time?"

Maria sighed deeply. "Jean--I am here because you asked me to come."

" _I_   asked you?"

"Indeed."

"Well, why did I do _that?_ "

Maria smiled. "To answer that question adequately, my dear girl, would take me hours. Days. The short answer is--you asked me, because that is what you do. Ask people to sacrifice everything, to go beyond what they thought was possible. And you do that, because that is what _you_ have spent your life doing. Jean--there is no one in the entire Universe, where I come from, that would refuse to obey any request of yours. I certainly would never hesitate. A request from you is as absolute as anything gets."

Jean's head was spinning. "Maria--I don't understand."

"Of course you don't!" And suddenly, Maria had pulled Jean to her feet and was hugging her, kissing her. "My darling Jeannie--that was the second reason why I brought you here. Sheer weakness. I just wanted to see you, in your youth and joy, before--it--all happened. And to tell you these things, which you won't be able to recall but will comprehend, nevertheless. After all--you are who you are."

Jean Grey looked her friend in the eyes. "And what am I, Maria Gianelli?"

"Life. And death." Maria looked solemn. "Jean--I have killed you. And resurrected you. You have saved me. More than once. I don't mean in the way that X-Men all save each other's lives. No--I mean something quite different. You have saved my soul. Literally. You have also--almost incidentally--" And Maria laughed, and for a brief second it was the laugh of the Maria, the Shift, Jean knew-- "saved the Universe. No-- _more_   than saved it. You have transformed it, made it into something new and better."

Jean sank back into the rocker. "Oh, God! Maria--it's too much. Everything, too much. You're saying that I'm going to do something _that_ important?"

"You are," Maria said. "And you shall do it in every sphere of existence. In every time-line, even the ones where you 'died' first. _Every_   path in time leads inexorably to the Crystal."

Jean paused. That word--Crystal! There was _something_ there that seemed to reverberate within her... "Oh?" was all she said.

"Yes," Maria said. "Jean--let me speak plainly. For once, you might well say to yourself! The Crystal is where Time is absolute. The day shall come when it will be endangered. On that day, _you_   shall enter the Crystal--with your fellow X-Men--and repair it. You shall not only restore it, you shall make it into something strange, and rich, and new. Time shall be remade in that instant. All time will be one, in a fundamental way. Oh, different chronologies shall continue in their different ways, but--both forward and backward--time will essentially be _one._ You have already sensed this in your life. You recall the dreams you've had? Of that fire creature? You have had them all your life. Especially right at the cusp between sleep and waking. Well, girl, you _have_   had them, have you not?"

Jean gasped. Suddenly, she remembered. "Yes! Oh, _yes!_ I _do_   remember--" She stopped dead. "You mean--you mean, that will be because of events that _haven't happened yet?_ "

Maria shook her head. "Not quite, Jean. They _have_ happened. Sometimes, they've happened in 1968. Sometimes, in 1977. Sometimes in other years. That depends on the timeline. But they are all _one._ And once it/they did happen, they cast their shadows throughout all eternity."

Jean realized that she understood what Maria was saying, on levels she never knew existed within her. Something--some _thing_ \--was stirring in her mind, her heart, her soul. "But Maria--it's not all good, is it? There's so much evil there--"

"That's right, dear," Maria said. "Much evil. I shall not lie. And you shall have to confront it. You shall not always succeed. You already know this."

Jean nodded. "Yes. Yes, Maria, I know this." She took her friend by the hands. "But I know this, also--I am not afraid."

"No," Maria said. "No, Jean. God--if there's anything I know, it's _that._ "

"Maria?" Jean asked slowly. "Why--why did I send _you_ here? To this past?"

"For my sins." And Maria laughed.

"No! No--please, Maria. No more enigmatic hints. Why?"

"Because I don't truly belong, Jean. Because my life cuts across all timelines, existing within them but not being _of_ them."

Jean thought hard about those words. "I--I think I'm beginning to understand." Tears came to her eyes. "You never knew the truth about yourself, did you, Maria? Not until--until _I_   told it to you in your future."

"In 2012," Maria said. "And no, Jeannie, my darling child--I did not know. I never knew. I lived, loved, lost, saved you, destroyed you, was redeemed by you--and I never knew. That was why I had to do as you bade me--though of course, as I said, I would never have considered _not_   obeying you, anymore than anyone else would."

Jean kissed her friend on the cheek. "Is there _anything_   that can help, darling? Anything _I_ can do, now, here?"

Maria smiled. "I don't think so, dear. No, don't you fret about it! And you won't. Once you leave, I shall be back at the Mansion, with you and Scott and Hank and all the others. You'll see me there. _Her_   there. And I meanwhile will try to finish my mission." She stopped and looked sad. "I no longer believe I shall succeed, Jean. Not fully. Time has pressed on quicker here than I thought it would. I thought I had many years before you entered the Crystal. Instead, it is all coming quickly. Too quickly. I believe that all I can achieve is a limited success, and that may have to be good enough."

Jean thought hard. "Wanda," she finally said. "The Scarlet Witch. You need _her,_ don't you?"

Maria smiled delightedly. "Very good, Red! Indeed. But it isn't really _I_   who need her. It's _you_   who need her."

Jean nodded. "Yes. Yes, I begin to see." She frowned. "And your future--your 2012-- _that's_ the real time, isn't it? The actual chronology?"

"We call it the Primal Timeline. And yes, darling, it is the real one."

"And _this_ world--it's already diverged, hasn't it?"

"It has," Maria said. "In the Primal Timeline, by July of 1965 you have already defeated Factor Three and are right now in the process of living apart, after the FBI requested you to split up. The Changeling has died, and you and Charles are preparing a defense against the Z'Noxx. But in _your_   world, you have just defeated the Juggernaut, and are about to face the Sentinels. And this time will be very dangerous for you."

Jean nodded. "They all seem to be."

"Yes, darling, they do." Maria hesitated. "Jean--it's time for you to go."

Jean looked at Maria and nodded sadly. "Yes, Maria. Yes, I know. But there's still so much I don't understand!"

"Nor shall you, not now." Maria smiled. "But you will. Someday."

"Of course." Jean kissed the older woman. "I love you, Maria."

"I love you, Jean. My darling. Goodbye. _I_   shall not see you again."

Jean laughed. " _You_ can say _that?_ "

Maria laughed. "Very well! We shall always have hope!"

"Absolutely!" And without a backward glance Jean Grey walked out of the living room, past the hall with the pictures, and out the front door. So many thoughts went through her head--of everything she and Maria talked about, and things they hadn't, things that Jean suddenly _knew_   and didn't know how she knew them. She reached the car, and looked north and south, across the mountains, and the wind in the Berkshires seemed to blow her very soul to the four corners of the earth. She seemed in a daze, and couldn't think or move for what seemed a very long time. Then she shook her head, and looked around her.

My God! She _was_ way out of her way! How had she gotten all the way up _here,_ anyway? And where in God's name _was_ she? These mountains-- By God, she had driven all the way up to the Berkshires! She was actually in somebody's yard! She got into the car and turned the ignition, slowly driving around this circular driveway. For heaven's sake, Red, get off these people's property and get back to civilization. God knows what Mom and Dad were thinking--and Scott. She hoped he hadn't tried to call, while she was way off to hell and gone, woolgathering. She drove down the side of the mountain, hoping she could get home in time for dinner.


	64. Warren and Candy's Adventure

Chapter Sixty-four

* * *

Warren and Candy strolled hand-in-hand down the beach. Warren was enjoying the July day, the breeze off the Sound, the fact that he _was_ here with Candy. He was content, at least for now. And in their business, that was enough. Because God alone knew what tomorrow would be like.

He was chuckling. "That sonuvagun. A baby brother. And never telling us all this time."

Candy was frowning. "From what you've told me about Cyclops, though, it seems very much in character for him. Keeping it to himself, that is."

Warren nodded. "Cyke isn't one to let it all hang out."

"Let it all hang in, you mean?"

"Oh, yeah."

"Even with his legendary girl-friend?"

Warren laughed. "Boy, you're not going to let me forget _that,_ are you?"

Candy made a sour face. "Not for an instant. Though--to return to Scott--it's my impression that ever since you guys went public, he's mellowed a bit. But that's just from what I see, read, and hear from you."

Warren considered this. "You may be right," he finally said. "God knows, Jean has been good for him. Legendary or not. And I wouldn't ignore the bad example of Maria. But then, she's a bad example to all of us."

Candy smiled. "I'm anxious to really meet her--all I had was a quick 'hello' at her engagement party . She seems to be something."

"Kiddo--no words of mine can do justice to the reality." As they walked, they ignored the stares and whispers--and occasional screams--that accompanied Warren everywhere. Especially from the female passers-by. Candy seemed resigned to the occasional woman who rushed up and offered, to his face, to do absolutely anything he might wish. Some of the comments, made utterly without shame, were crude in the extreme, their sheer explicitness making the hair rise on Warren's scalp. What was it Clive of India had said? "By God, when I consider my opportunities, I stand astonished at my moderation!" Warren wondered why he hadn't responded to one of the many women who threw themselves at him, answered one of the endless letters offering him--well, the delights of the Earth. Forgetting for the moment that Candy made him a very happy young man indeed, when he considered his opportunities... He sighed and shook his head. Maybe he just didn't want to become a monster. And somehow, he sensed that if he went down that road, becoming a monster would be the end of it.

He turned to Candy. "Have your schoolmates forgiven you for not telling them about me?"

She considered the question. "They've probably forgiven me for _that._ What they _don't_   forgive is the simple fact of having you in my possession."

Warren laughed. "Huh. Let 'em stew in it."

"Oh, I am! I'm beyond such things as the jealousy of empty-headed girls. I'm glad I've graduated."

"But won't it just follow you to Vassar?"

"Hopefully, the girls there are more mature."

"You say that as if you aren't sure."

"One never knows what the future will bring." And they laughed again, and Warren knew how lucky he was in having someone he could laugh with, someone who cared about him as Warren Worthington the Third, and not as the Angel. They walked for a long time, finding a remote part of the beach and a hidden dune, and there they made love. Sometimes the logistics of this were difficult, because Candy--while she loved Warren for himself--nonetheless also went into instant overdrive at the mere touch of his wings while they made love, and doing that, while getting into position for the act itself, sometimes involved acrobatics that might have strained Hank. But Candy was usually up to the task, and so she was this day, too. Afterwards, they lay there, soaking in the sun and each other, and Candy finally sighed deeply.

"Life can sure get weird, can't it, lover?"

"You might say so." He looked out at the sea, and frowned suddenly.

"Hey--what's that?" He was pointing to something bobbing in the water, slowly making its way in with the tide. "It looks--damned if it doesn't look like a _trunk._ "

"Come on," Candy said. "A trunk? Like a treasure chest? It's been awhile since the days of Captain Kidd, Warren."

"Yeah, yeah...I can't see that thing bobbing out there for two hundred years. But it sure is _something._ " They watched as the trunk, whatever, moved slowly in towards the beach. Finally, it was close enough for Warren to walk out and grab it. He lifted it out of the water and returned, holding it in his arms. He was surprised by how little it weighed. He put it down at Candy's feet.

"Warren--it _is_ a trunk!" The excitement in Candy's voice was manifest, and Warren shared it. It was indeed a trunk, though a modern one, not some ancient heirloom that spoke of "pieces of eight". This was sleek, modern wood, about two feet long, a foot wide, and perhaps eight inches thick. Warren shook it, but didn't hear anything move within. Candy took it from him.

"Let's open it, Warren! We _have_ to open it!"

Warren suddenly looked dubious. "Wait a minute, Candy. I dunno... It just occurred to me, this area is a haven for drug smugglers. This might be dope, or money used for dope purchases. Maybe we should just take it to the cops."

"Warren Worthington! Aren't _you_   a 'cop'? Or at least, an authority figure? If _you_   can't take responsibility for opening this, who can? Besides, aren't you curious at all as to what's inside?"

Warren sighed. He knew when he was licked. Besides, he _was_   curious... "OK, Candy." He leaned over, tried to see how it opened. "Looks like there are locks here..." He manipulated some locks, took a deep breath. "No go. I guess we'll have to--" But at that instant, the trunk simply popped open with a _thwick,_ and they could see what was inside.

"My God," Candy said, disappointment in her voice. "What are _those,_ anyway?"

Warren picked up various pieces of paper. "They seem to be bonds," he said. "Big banks..." He shook his head. "I don't know, Candy. This looks like pretty serious stuff."

Candy, her mood altered, looked at some of the contents of the trunk. "You're right," she said, voice calm and collected. "Warren--these are worth a fortune! Maybe it _is_   drug related." She turned over some papers, and gave a cry. "And these! Warren--are they-- _microfilm?_ "

Warren looked at some transparencies, held them up to the light. "Sure appears that way, Candy. Yeah--this _is_   big-league stuff. Guess we better get it to the cops at that."

"Yeah," Candy said, voice uncertain. They walked back to Warren's car, and drove to Mineola, the county seat. There, Warren had a long talk with the Sheriff's Office, and he and Candy left soon after, minus the trunk--and its contents. And walked right into a menagerie of flashbulbs and reporters, throwing questions at Warren. Someone had leaked to the press, and he and Candy had to extricate themselves from the police station.

The next day, the two of them were on the front page of the _Daily Bugle,_ the _Daily News,_ and the _Post-_ -or at least, Candy was. The _Daily News_   had the most refined and elegant cover headline-- _Mutie find at beach!_ \--with a picture of Candy in her bikini holding pride of place. Warren was seen in a photo on page three. He laughed to himself. For once, _he_ wasn't the sex symbol. The story grew legs over the next twenty-four hours, as news media tried to discover what the trunk held, but no one in the Nassau County Police Department was talking. And since Warren and Candy didn't know anything more about it, they could claim innocence to the press with a clear conscience.

Warren received a phone call that afternoon from the Professor, who offered his aid, and that of the FBI. But since Warren had no idea what was happening, he just thanked the Professor and said he'd be back at the Mansion in a few days. Meanwhile, that evening he and Candy went to a small local clam shack that had music on the weekends--and it was a Friday night. They ate sea food, and ignored the gawkers--the clientele was mostly local here, and they knew, or had heard of, Warren and his family. So he and Candy just relaxed and enjoyed themselves, listened to the music with interest and enjoyment, and even did some slow dancing, when Warren felt he could without brushing other couples with his wings. They spent the night together in the guest apartment over the garage at Candy's house. The next morning Warren asked Candy about this.

"Your parents don't mind?" he said with a laugh. She shrugged.

"I go my way, they go theirs," she said. "It isn't as if they have a perfect marriage. They both have outside interests. So if I let them alone, they let me alone."

Warren looked sad. "That's a shame, Candy. I'm sorry."

"So am I, really. But it's just how it is, who they are. I'll concentrate on the future, thank you." And they kissed again, and had a shower together, wings and all. Candy swore to Warren that those were the best times--the showers. Soaping up his wings. How he washed her back with them. And every single time she told him this, Warren went absolutely bugfuck crazy with sheer animal desire. And all sorts of good things happened.

That afternoon he returned to Mineola to consult with the police. They told him that they had traced the bonds to a man named Sebastian Shaw. Warren sat there, stunned. That was a name he knew. Dad's friend, and fellow member of the Hellfire Club! How on earth had they gotten tossed into the surf off the North Shore of Long Island? And the microfilm seemed to show blueprints for the creation of a kind of robot. Warren got very interested indeed at that point. Robots? The Professor had told them about the so-called "Sentinels"--robots built for the purpose of destroying mutants. He started to wonder if the trunk had been planted there for him to find.

He called the Professor to tell him of these developments, and to ask him if he knew anything about Sebastian Shaw. The Professor hesitated, then said: "Warren, I'll tell you the truth. Shaw is a mutant."

Warren's face showed his astonishment. " _He's_ a mutant? Then what is he doing connected to these Sentinels, anyway?"

"I don't know, Warren. That's a very good question. I'll contact Duncan at the FBI to see if _he_   knows. Meanwhile, I'd prefer it if you would return to the Mansion. Great and terrible events are starting to envelop us, and I feel it would be better if we were united again. Hank and Maria are returning soon, and they have had colorful events in their own lives. And Jean returns tomorrow--though I am glad to say that _she_ has had no adventures."

Warren thought for a second. "Professor--I'll be there tomorrow. I think there's something I want to do tonight, if you don't mind."

There was a significant pause on the other end of the line. "Might I inquire as to your plans, Warren?"

"Yeah. I'm going to the Hellfire Club tonight, sir. For the regular Saturday night shindig there. Dad can get Candy and I in there with no sweat, and I have a little hankering to see the place for myself."

The Professor made no reply. Then: "Very well, Warren. I sense no particular danger in this course of action. Just be on your guard, and try to get here tomorrow, if at all possible." He paused, and Warren was surprised to hear him chuckle. "Our new guests--Alex and Lorna--are fitting in very well. I'm anxious for you to meet them."

"I'm anxious too, Prof." And he hung up, feeling very confident all of a sudden.

Candy was thrilled at the prospect of a night out in Manhattan with Warren. "The Hellfire Club!" she said, voice ecstatic. "Oh, Warren, that's just--well, it's just _it._ _Everybody_   goes there who can."

He laughed. "Don't get too excited, Candy. I'm there on a reconnaissance mission. This is really business. You're my cover."

"How thrilling!" she cried. "You mean I'm the _femme fatale_   of the story?"

"Something like that," he said. "But really, Candy--don't get too into the role. If there's any hint of danger, you're _out_   of there, no questions asked. You have to agree to that up front."

She made a face, but finally nodded. "I guess that makes sense. Darn!" She considered for a second. "Wait a minute--aren't we too young to go gallivanting into a place like that?"

Warren grinned. "The Hellfire Club isn't a place that cares too much about technicalities like that."

"Oh, good!" Candy said delightedly, clapping her hands together. "And besides-- _you're_   such a celebrity, you can go anywhere you want to."

"I guess I can at that," Warren said a bit dubiously. For some reason, that thought disturbed him right then.

* * *

Ned Buckman looked at the man across his desk with satisfaction. "Excellent, old top, simply splendid."

Donald Pierce shrugged. "It was easy enough. Getting a miniature sub to launch the trunk near Worthington. Waiting around until he found it. Letting things take their natural course after that."

"Oh, quite, my dear Pierce, quite." Buckman grinned eagerly, almost boyishly. "And to think that until quite recently, you were _allied_   with the freaks. Congratulations on joining the winning side, old top."

Pierce smiled contentedly. "My pleasure, Ned. I've never been happy about working with Shaw and company. And with Emma gone--" A brief look of pain crossed his face. "A shame, that. A damned shame. She had such...enthusiasm. For so many things." He smiled. "But she _is_ gone, Ned. And with her, any lingering loyalties I felt to the Mutie Contingent."

Buckman looked at Pierce understandingly. "I know. Yes, it _was_   a shame. But let's look to the future, not the past."

"As you say," Pierce said, filling his glass with 80-year old brandy. "Well, Ned, I've done what you asked. Gotten those fake bonds to young Worthington. And those not-quite-exact blueprints for the Sentinels. If Xavier--or anyone else--tries to understand the robots--much less build one--from _those_   diagrams, they'll have a surprise coming."

"Oh, indeed," Buckman said, voice purring. "But at least it made the boy _think_ that he knew something of what was going on. And it's lured him into our trap."

"So he's definitely coming to the Club?"

Buckman nodded. "Oh, yes. This very night. With that charming Miss Sothern at his side."

"Excellent." Pierce nodded with satisfaction. "Then he'll be looking at Shaw, not at us."

"I think so."

Pierce frowned. "But there's one thing I still don't get, Ned--he won't think that Shaw has anything to do with the Sentinels. _No_ one could think that. Why were the blueprints included with the phony bonds?"

Buckman laughed. "Oh, my dear Donald! You miss the exquisite comedy of the affair! Warren--the X-Men--weren't meant to think that Shaw was connected to the Sentinels. They merely were led to think that all roads led _here,_ to the Hellfire Club. We wanted them to ask questions, and come here. Connect Shaw, the Sentinels, and the Club. Once they do that, I couldn't care less _what_   they made of those phony plans."

Pierce frowned. "I guess that makes sense, as far as it goes...it just seems a bit subtle for me." He shook his head. "What's to prevent the whole damned X-Men from coming to the Club, anyway? Did you consider _that?_ "

"Let them! The more, the merrier! What exactly are they going to _do,_ my dear Donald? Come in with guns blazing? No, no--they are suspicious of Shaw, and of the Club. Fine. That's what we want. All that matters is that Warren Worthington the Third falls into the trap. And once he does--" He laughed. A moment later, Donald Pierce joined him.

* * *

Candy's gown was light green, and accentuated her breasts. "My boobs aren't my best feature," she said sadly. "I have to do what I can for them."

"Do you hear _me_ complaining?" Warren said gallantly, as he helped her out of the limo.

"Oh, you're too much of a gentleman." She stared at him in his tux. "A tuxedo. And wings. That's better than Fred Astaire and his top hat, white tie, and tails. A _lot_   better."

"I'll take your word for it," Warren said cheerfully, as he and Candy walked up to the entrance of the Hellfire Club. He showed the doorman his father's pass, and they were ushered in. Warren looked around him, at the extremely wealthy friends of his family, and decided then and there that this place wasn't for him. To use a phrase he didn't particularly appreciate, he didn't like the vibes. It wasn't merely the stares _he_ received everywhere he went. He was used to that by now. But he did have to admit, there was something about _these_   stares that seemed--well, weird. As if the people here had seen it all, and regarded him as simply a specimen, like a butterfly in a glass case. There was no trace of mutant hatred, just the amused stare that Dorian Gray might have given him.

For her part, Candy seemed in her element. She said hello to a number of people whom she knew, talked with some friends of her parents, seemed happy to be here. There were some good-natured, kidding questions about her friendship with Warren, which she took with good grace. Despite his feeling of unease, he had to admit he didn't really know what he was looking for. Then he saw Sebastian Shaw across the room and--leaving Candy to her friends--walked over to him.

"Mr Shaw?" he asked tentatively. Shaw turned from his companion--a stunning Latin-looking beauty, dressed in classic Spanish fashion--and saw Warren. His eyes opened.

"By God, if it isn't young Warren!" He greeted Warren with a smile of genuine warmth, and they shook hands. "I've been wanting to meet you for some time, my boy. I'm a friend of your father's."

Warren nodded. "So I understand, Mr Shaw."

Shaw waved a hand. "Please, my boy, make it 'Sebastian'. You're an X-Man, for heaven's sake! You're an adult, if anyone is. Sebastian, by all means."

"Fine, Sebastian." Shaw looked around, but his companion had taken off. He frowned.

"Well, well...I had hoped to introduce you to Lourdes. No matter. That will happen when it's meant to happen."

Warren gulped. He knew this was going to be delicate-- "Sebastian? I'm sorry about Emma Frost. She visited Professor Xavier very soon before her death."

Shaw's eyes opened wide, then relaxed. "Yes. Yes, that was a terrible shock. But anti-mutant hysteria is all around us, I'm afraid." He looked closely at Warren. "And she visited your Professor before she died? I didn't know that."

"Yes, Sebastian." Warren hesitated. "And I have to add--he--the Professor--knows about _you,_ Sebastian."

Shaw thought for a moment, then laughed. "Well, I should think it would be hard to keep secrets from _him!_ " He gestured towards a quiet corner of the hall, and Warren followed him there. "Yes, Warren, I too am a mutant," he said. "As of course was Emma. And Lourdes, for that matter."

Warren nodded. "Of course, Sebastian. And Emma was killed because of it."

Shaw considered this. "I have been reluctant to come to that conclusion. But Lourdes was sure of it from the start. As was Ned. Ned Buckman, that is--the head of the Hellfire Club's Inner Circle. He's been very candid with me from the start. He's been honest about the anti-mutant prejudice that exists within the Club. I'm afraid it is there, Warren." He smiled. "We'll have to get you together with Ned. He should be here soon--"

Warren was satisfied. He was here to get information. Neither he nor the Professor thought that Shaw had any connection to the Sentinels--why on earth should he? But someone had gone to great trouble to make it seem that he had. It was _that_   person whom Warren was anxious to meet. He felt--and Professor Xavier agreed--that the whole business of the Mysterious Trunk was just a little too good to be true. In fact, Warren felt the whole business might have been intended simply to get him here to the Hellfire Club. Which meant a trap. Fine. Let them--whoever it was--spring it. He felt more than equal to any challenge.

"Come on, son," Shaw said suddenly. "There are back rooms. I'd feel better without prying eyes for a moment." Warren agreed, and soon they were sitting in a small lounge, well away from the main hall of the Club. It was deserted, and Shaw took a bottle of Scotch and mixed two drinks.

"I assume you won't mind indulging, young man...?" he asked, a smile on his face. Warren merely nodded. He wasn't really a drinker, but knew that this drink, at this time, shouldn't be turned down. He sipped the drink. The Scotch was exceptionally good. It made the hair grow on the chest, as his grandfather might have put it. He put it down with a smile. Shaw nodded his approval.

"Now, Warren. Let's talk turkey. What did Emma want with Xavier?"

"Not much, really," Warren said cautiously. "She just wanted to know what the Professor knew about the Club, its mutants, and any threats to them." That was true enough as far as it went. Warren did not see fit to tell Shaw that Professor Xavier was certain that Emma had an agenda that had nothing to do with the Hellfire Club. Shaw seemed to take Warren's words at face value.

"I see," he said, sounding a bit disappointed. "Well, if that is all that you know--" He was going to say more, but never had the chance. Because at that moment, the door of the lounge was smashed open, and a figure entered the room. He was tall, dressed in what appeared to be animal skins with a bare chested shirt, and had a black beard and moustache. He scowled at the two mutants.

"I thought this would be a challenge," he sneered, voice smooth but ferocious at the same time. He spoke with a definite accent that Warren had trouble placing. "But Kraven will take his prey anyway he can. He has given his word that the hunt for the winged one will end in blood on his fingers and tongue this night. And he _never_   goes back on his word."

* * *

Warren stood rooted to the spot for just a moment, as Kraven approached him. Then he looked around, desperately seeking a space for him to fly in. There was no such space in this cramped lounge. If he could get out the window--but Kraven was already upon him.

"Do not try to escape, boy," he said. "I am sworn to make it quick. I _shall_   make it quick, if you do not struggle. The more you struggle, the more this shall pain you--and me. Yes, and me, as well. I take no pleasure in the pain of my prey. Only in the hunt itself."

Warren laughed. "Well, gee whiz, I hope you don't mind if I don't find _that_   very consoling." But at that instant, Shaw--breaking out of what seemed almost a stupor--ran at Kraven. "Move, boy!" he cried at Warren. "Move! Get out of the building, out into the night where you'll have a chance! _I'll_   keep him company!" And he threw himself at Kraven, grabbing the man by the wrists and pinning him down onto the floor.

Warren ran to the window, opened it. It was just big enough for him to squeeze through, though it would clip his wings some. No matter. He got through, and flew into the sky above the Hellfire Club. Meanwhile, he saw through the window Kraven rebound and shoot Shaw full of some electrical discharge. Shaw laughed, and advanced upon Kraven. The Hunter then smiled and took out a vial, and rubbed the contents on his fingers. A moment later, those same fingers had raked Shaw, and the older man was down on the floor, writhing. Kraven laughed, and went to the window.

Warren was still flying near the Club, and saw Kraven as he went out the window. "A simple poison," Kraven said. "The mutant could not turn _that_ power against me." He glanced at Shaw, now unconscious. "He will live," he said to the night. " _He_   was not my chosen prey. No, boy--that is _your_ privilege. Stop trying to escape it. It is written that you shall fall to me. So shall it be." And he climbed the sides of the Club like a monkey, and tossed himself off the roof at Warren with the speed and ferocity of a tiger.

* * *

Ned Buckman smiled over Sebastian Shaw's prone form. "Well, really, old top," he said. "You are much too trusting, you know. My little shows of 'candor'! You made it _so_   easy." Buckman took out a pistol, and made a elaborate show of exhibiting it. Shaw--still prone on the floor of the lounge, but conscious now--looked at Buckman, eyes popping in astonishment.

"Oh, dear me, old top--it seems as if you weren't expecting this little development, were you? Oh my--you really thought I cared about an upstart mutie freak? How amusing. You thought my word of honor--as a 'gentleman'--meant something? I have news for you, old top." Buckman leaned close to Shaw's face, smiling in ugly triumph. "I only _really_   give my word to human beings. Anything else--dear me, I do believe I have my fingers crossed." He twirled the chamber of the gun. "Guess what _we're_   going to do, old top? Have a pleasant little game of Russian Roulette. Only one of the six chambers is loaded. And right now--well, I've been twirling this round and round, so I don't really know _where_ the bullet is! Let's find out, shall we?"

Buckman laughed, pointed the pistol at Shaw, and pulled the trigger. _Click._ "Nope. Not _that_   one." And he laughed again. "Let's do play again, shall we?"

* * *

Warren dodged the Hunter's first attack, feeling cramped flying in this ridiculous monkey suit. No matter. He flew up above the attack, and the Hunter back-flipped and landed lightly on his feet-- _fifty_ feet below the roof of the building. Kraven laughed. "You shall not be an easy prey!" He roared. "Excellent, excellent. This might be as invigorating as the Spider himself!" And from the ground, he pushed a button on his vest, and a bolt of lightning came up and hit Warren as he flew over the street. He grunted, and sank down towards street level.

 _Idiot, idiot, idiot!_ he thought to himself. _You walked right into that one. Was all your work in the Danger Room wasted?_   He stabilized about twenty feet above the pavement, and the Hunter was on top of him again, leaping from the roof of a car, and this time he got his hands on Warren. Or at least his legs, which he had in a bear hug. This time, Warren had sense enough to start to rise, but Kraven's weight held him down. Kraven felt exceptionally heavy, and Warren realized that the Hunter had an ability to distribute his weight so as to be a maximum drag on him as he tried to fly. By now, people had fled, screaming, from the Hellfire Club, and were watching the battle open-mouthed. Was Candy there? He didn't see her...

Forget Candy. He was in trouble right here. He grit his teeth in pain, as the Hunter smashed his right fist into his thigh muscles. He couldn't let him keep doing this, or he'd be helpless. He flew up over the rooftops, ignoring the pain, trying to shake Kraven off. But the Hunter held on tenaciously.

* * *

Sebastian Shaw's mind was racing. Ned an enemy! All along! He cursed himself for his naivete. He _had_   trusted Ned's word--simply because he had given it to him. Well, if he survived this encounter, he would never make _that_ mistake again. But what were the chances he would survive, anyway? Buckman was twirling the chamber again.

"Number Two," he said with a laugh. He pulled the trigger. _Click._ "Dear me. We aren't having much luck here, are we, Sebastian?" And he laughed that jackal laugh again. And Shaw shut his eyes in sheer frustration and mortification. Then another voice joined them.

"For God's sake, Buckman, kill him and get it over with!" Shaw opened his eyes, seemingly beyond shock. Pierce! Donald was leaning over him, staring at him with empty eyes.

"Yes, Sebastian, I've gone over," he said, voice as dead as his damned soul. "Sorry. But with Emma gone, I've decided I don't need--or trust--muties very much." He turned to Buckman. "For God's sake, man, do it!"

Shaw found he could speak. "Go--to--hell--" he said slowly to Pierce. The latter laughed.

"Oh, after you, Sebastian. After you!" He walked to the door, scowled at Buckman. "Don't waste any more time." And left. Buckman considered for a second.

"I'm afraid that dear Donald has a point, Sebastian," he said. "Time is a-wasting, as they say. And I really _do_ have things to do before the police get here--which will be any moment, actually. And I can't be seen anywhere near your corpse, now, can I?" He smiled. "So we do this the simple way. One after another, click, click, click--until we find the one that goes _bang!_ " And he laughed like a madman, pointing the gun at Sebastian Shaw again.

* * *

Candy Sothern, at the first sound of the action, ran towards the back area of the Club where Shaw had taken Warren. This wasn't a conscious decision on her part. She simply wasn't going to be separated from him, no matter what. Let him try to go into action without her! Whatever happened, she'd be there for him.

She found a door blasted apart, and looking in saw a man dressed in skins jumping out of a window. Shaw was on the floor, writhing. She heard someone coming. She hid behind a suit of armor, of all things, and watched as a man with a gun entered the lounge. She got closer, and heard him gloating over Shaw, and then--to her horror--she saw him aim the gun and pull the trigger. To her immense relief, the gun merely went _click._ He talked to Shaw some more, then pulled the trigger again, and once more she heard it go _click._ And just as Candy had finally grabbed enough courage to run into the room and try to intervene, she heard another man come along to the lounge. Cursing to herself, she hid behind the armor again.

Thankfully, this second man didn't stay for very long, and soon left the room. Once more, Shaw was alone with the man with the gun. And once more, he seemed to be preparing to pull the trigger. Enough of this. Candy strained and pulled a gauntlet off the suit of armor, and slowly tip-toed into the lounge. She raised the gauntlet over her head, and brought it down on top of the head of the man with the gun. He fell to the floor, head bleeding, out like a light. Candy immediately knelt down by Shaw.

"Mr Shaw!" she said, voice calm and collected. "Are you OK? Do you need an ambulance?"

Shaw coughed, and managed to assume a sitting position. "No..." he said. Then, stronger: "No, my dear. Miss Sothern, isn't it? My dear--I owe you many thanks. I am in your debt. And I always pay my debts--especially when my life has been saved."

Candy smiled at him. "Really, Mr Shaw--it's OK. I couldn't just let him kill you, you know?"

"I do know indeed," Shaw said, getting to his feet. He looked down at the man with the gun, flat at his feet. "Well, Ned. Well, well." He picked up the gun and handed it to Candy. "Please take this away, my dear. I hate guns. It won't be necessary."

Candy frowned, but accepted the gun. "But Mr Shaw--you don't want me to call the police?"

Shaw laughed softly. "Oh no, my dear. No, indeed." A deadly light came into his eyes. "I believe that what is needed here is--discretion. Yes, that's the word I mean." He smiled at her again. "If you please, Miss Sothern--I think I can manage just fine from here."

Candy nodded, suddenly not wanting to know any more. "Yes, Mister Shaw." And tip-toed out of the room as softly as she entered it.

* * *

_To hell with this._

Warren was tired of flying around with a lunatic grabbing at his heels. He ignored the pain in his legs, and twirled in a fast pattern, just like the Danger Room. It worked, because Kraven was thrown off, landing softly on a near-by roof. He turned to Warren, coming around again, and once more pushed the button on his vest. But Warren, anticipating the action this time, flew in a figure-eight pattern, right at Kraven, and clipped him hard as he flew by. Kraven fell to the roof, holding his jaw, and Warren flew around again. This time, he paused slightly behind Kraven and landed a solid kidney punch as the Hunter lay there. Warren smiled with satisfaction as his opponent grunted with pain. The Hunter slowly rose and made one more gesture to his vest, and a final flash of light moved towards Warren--and past him, dissipating into the Manhattan night. Then a small vial just missed him, and Warren breathed a sigh of relief. He knew it had contained poison, and that it would probably have proved fatal had it hit him.

Another fast, involved pattern--and another _smack_   right to the jaw of the Hunter. His man was down, and Warren flew around once more, wary of tricks but feeling the sense of triumph that only action could bring, that only impending victory could consolidate. He laughed, out of sheer pleasure at being alive, young, invincible. Kraven started to rise, and just as he did so, Warren rammed right into him like a guided missile. Kraven the Hunter went down, and did not rise again.

The aftermath was satisfying, and confusing. Kraven was taken away by the police, and the Hellfire Club was surrounded by crowds of people, reporters, TV crews, all of whom wanted a statement from Warren. He gave an interview or two, then withdrew from the limelight. Shaw appeared, and apparently Ned Buckman, the leader of the Hellfire Club's Inner Circle, had vanished. Shaw professed no knowledge of his whereabouts. But as the police put it together, Buckman had hired Kraven to kill Warren, and Shaw had gotten in the way, an innocent bystander. When Buckman threatened to kill Shaw, none other than Candy had saved his life. Candy confirmed this as quietly as possible, but had little else to say. Meanwhile, Donald Pierce, erstwhile member of the Club, had also vanished without a trace.

When the police asked Warren about possible motives Buckman might have had, he could only suggest anti-mutant prejudice. The police accepted this at face value, which suited Warren. After all, it was true. Finally, he and Candy were alone.

"You did good, hon," he said with a smile, kissing her. Candy seemed listless and disinterested.

"Yeah."

Warren frowned. "What is it, Candy? What really happened?" She explained to him what she had seen, done. Warren listened to this without comment. Finally, he sighed.

"Well, I guess we won't be seeing Mr Buckman anymore."

"No," Candy said softly. "I guess we won't."

"Having pangs of conscience? _You_ didn't do anything wrong, Candy."

"I know I didn't," she said. "Buckman was going to commit murder in cold blood. I couldn't let him do that. But Warren--"

"Yeah, Candy?"

"Shaw..." She shuddered. "You _know_ what he did to Buckman. In return."

Warren was silent for a long time. "Yeah, Candy. Yeah, I know. But there's nothing we can do. It stinks. I have a bad taste in my mouth. But if anyone ever dug his own grave, it was that guy. Sometimes, there just isn't anything you can do."

She nodded, but Warren saw tears in her eyes. "I guess not," she said. "But that doesn't make it easy, does it?"

Warren kissed her. "No, honey. No, it doesn't."

They left for Long Island soon after, but not before Warren had a brief meeting with Shaw. Shaw was effusive in praise of Candy. Warren nodded.

"She did the right thing." He looked Shaw right in the eyes. "But she's an innocent. What happened--after that--was tough for her to accept."

Shaw nodded. "I know, Warren. I know. It was tough for _me_   to accept, and I was the one who--well, who did it. Ned had been a friend of mine." He sighed. "He gave me his word. I thought that meant something. Without his word, a man is nothing. And now--Ned Buckman is nothing." He smiled tightly. "And Donald Pierce--when I find him--shall be nothing, as well. _That,_ however, is a matter for another day."

They parted, and Warren got Candy home. And then got home himself, and slept for ten hours straight.


	65. Maria and Hank's Adventure

Chapter Sixty-five

* * *

Maria walked into the poolroom, wearing a pair of blue jeans and a gray turtleneck sweater and spoiling for a fight. Not a real one, of course, but she was in a mood. Three days in Reading, and she was tired of the whispers just out of her hearing, of eyes and fingers turning towards her but no one actually coming out and confronting her. Hank just smiled and seemed to rise above it all, and he advised Maria to do the same. Still, Maria knew her Hank, and knew that he wasn't happy at being a near-pariah in his own hometown. Only Brenda--whom they had had dinner with the night before--seemed genuinely glad to see them. But Brenda, as Hank said, was a Holy Fool, and incapable of spite or maliciousness. The rest of the town wasn't on her level, and Maria was sick of it. So--no barroom brawls, needless to say. But she couldn't help pushing back, just a little.

She walked up to the bar and asked for a ginger ale. She wished for a moment that she could legally request a beer--she had had plenty during the Torches and Pitchfork days, God knew. But she also knew that the Professor wouldn't want her to, and she honored her promise to him to obey his rules. The bartender served her the ginger ale with obvious reluctance, and she walked to a small booth and began to nurse her drink, watching the state of play at a nearby pool table. Hank was at home, reading, and barely grunted a farewell when Maria said she was restless and wanted to take a walk. She had wandered along the Schuykill River for awhile, ignoring the gawking, but finally ended up here, at Patrick's, the pool hall where Hank had spent much of his youth. Patrick himself was a thirty-nine-year old veteran of World War Two with a beer belly that looked as if it extended to New Jersey, a friendly face and a vocabulary that would make a drill sergeant blush. Withal, he wasn't hostile to Maria, and seemed, from his table where he and some cronies were discussing the National League pennant race, pleased to see her. Perhaps he liked having a "celebrity" in his place. If so, he was the only one. Everywhere else, talk and activity seemed to come to a halt, and Maria noticed with amusement that the females were more vexed at her presence than the males seemed to be. Maybe, she thought, they were just in awe of her supernatural beauty. Yes, Maria reasoned to herself, that must be it. Finally, one of the girls--a heavily-made up brunette with a beehive hair-do and a skirt three inches above her knee--walked over to her booth and glared down at her.

"You actually come from that school for freaks?" she said in a very hostile tone. Maria, no doubt put in a mellow mood by the sheer potency of her ginger ale, smiled in a relaxed manner and nodded amiably.

"Absolutely, my dear." Her hostile mood of only moments before seemed gone with the wind. By God, this _was_   good ginger ale--

The girl seemed unsure of how to take this. "You don't get embarrassed to mingle with us normal folk?" she finally said, as if she had just come up with a quip worthy of Wilde. Maria smiled in a superior fashion.

"We're all abnormal in our various ways, my dear," she said with assurance. "I've never seen a 'normal' person. Have you? Everyone is as crazy as a loon, if you catch them with their pants down." She stared at the girl's skirt. "If you'll excuse the expression."

The girl flushed, and started to move away when she turned again to Maria. " _You_ aren't wearing a skirt," she said with a note of triumph in her voice, as if she had scored a point. Maria merely looked at her jeans, and nodded to the girl.

"My legs are like weapons," she said. "Just ready to go off at any second. But I can't unleash them on an unsuspecting world, my dear." The girl smiled uncertainly, and ran back to her friends. Maria could hear her talking--my God, did you _hear_   what that mutie freak said, her _legs_   are weapons, she _threatened_   me, why do people let muties get away with that it shouldn't be allowed why she was going to have Daddy write their Congressman...

Maria shut her eyes. She put a finger up, and Patrick replenished her ginger ale. She sniffed it, wondering anew at its potency. She sniffed it again, and heard laughter in the background. _By God._ She knew the scent of brandy when she smelled it. Patrick had been spiking her ginger ale. She put it down carefully and walked over to him at his table.

"Shir," she said, voice slurring only a bit, "I will have you know that I am only eighteen years of age. I believe that you have been distributing alcohol to me in my ginger ale." Her voice sounded lower and more--well, _she_ would have said "alluring", but an unsympathetic observer might have said "rusty"--than it usually was. "Ash a duly--uh--sworn represen'tive of the law, I must protest at thish action."

The whole poolroom broke into raucous laughter, but Maria just stood there on her dignity. Patrick shrugged.

"I strongly deny these allegations, Miss. Some people just don't know how to hold their ginger ale."

"An' _I_   reshent the all'gation that I cannot hold my ginger ale. I'll have you know, shir, that _I_ have been raiding and belknapping picnic baskets for a v'ry long time, and that includes ginger ale--all I can drink at times..." The laughter increased, but Maria suddenly didn't find it amusing. With a formal bow, she left the poolroom and walked out into the heat of a Piedmont summer day, finding herself eventually at a small park where she walked behind a tree, put her head between her thighs, and threw up. She stayed that way for some time, then sat down in the grass. After a few minutes she felt normal again, got to her feet, and began trudging the melancholy steps to Hank's house. She always had a bad reaction to anything stronger than beer, but recovered quickly. Her benders--in her belknapping days--were short and sweet. Glad to see that a year with the X-Men, and total abstinence from booze, hadn't changed things... _Right._

Oh well. Enough of cementing mutant/human relations for one day. Maybe Hank was done with his book by now...

* * *

Hank threw his book down, finding it dull and pretentious. He wished Maria was back. They would see a film that evening--she had wanted _Cat Ballou,_ he had wanted _The Pawnbroker,_ and they finally compromised on _Lord Jim._ Both of them loved Conrad, and Maria had expressed an interest in seeing as many close-ups of Peter O'Toole's eyes as possible. Hank had sighed, and fallen in with the plan. His mother had suggested _The Sound of Music,_ and while they had been polite in their demurrals, Maria told him privately later that she would take poison rather than see _that_   particular film--unless she Shifted into a figure of sheer gold and went to the film as Ray, a Drop of Golden Sun. After Hank had finished with his hysterical laughter, he agreed that unleashing _that_ particular Shift form upon the world was too terrible to contemplate.

Maria walked into the house, and Hank saw at once that something was the matter. He came over to her, and she shook her head and told him the whole story of the spiked ginger ale. Hank was angry, not finding much humor in this incident. He resolved to have a little talk with Patrick before he returned to the Mansion, although the two of them had always been on good terms. Maria was feeling down, and Hank had to talk her into going to the film that evening, which she finally did.

The next day found them in Philadelphia. Hank wanted to show her some of the sights of the nation's first capital, and they walked along the Schuykill--a little more imposing here in Philly than in Reading--and Rittenhouse Square and Independence Hall and the Franklin Institute and Market Street, and they stopped and each had a Philly steak and cheese at a sidewalk cafe while a huge crowd watched them, and Maria's spirits seemed to soar. They walked hand-in-hand, a crowd of children as always following Maria around. Finally, inevitably, Maria stopped and talked to them, and the next thing they knew a solid hour had passed. They they walked through some back streets with row houses, and were just thinking of heading home when a cop ran up to them.

"Hey, people, I hate to interrupt you or anything, but we have an emergency situation..."

"Oh?" Hank looked into Maria's eyes, turned back to the cop. "What is it, officer?"

"Well, cripes, it's a damned good thing _you_   guys are here because Philly doesn't have any superheroes of its own, y'know... Anyway--that guy, the Trapster, you know, of the Frightful Four, he escaped jail lately and cripes I don't know why they bother locking up these super guys because they _always_   escape--"

Hank put up a hand. "Uh, excuse me, my loquacious friend, but might we have the details--?"

"Oh, yeah. Well, he's doing a hold-up at the Second Bank of Pennsylvania on Chestnut Street...I guess there's a hostage situation or something..."

That was all the two young people needed to know; they were already running south towards Chestnut Street. They turned a corner, and Hank shed some outer clothes that weren't treated with unstable molecules. Maria paused a second.

"Hey," she said. "The Trapster. The _Trapster?_ Isn't he the guy they used to call 'Paste-Pot Pete'?" And she began to laugh.

Hank shook his head. "Maria--I've seen the files on this gentleman. He is dangerous. Don't underestimate him."

"Sure," she said, still giggling, as they headed to the area of the bank. It wasn't hard to find--a large crowd were gathered outside, and media crews and police were there. As they approached, Maria was recognized, and they had an immediate audience with the head of Philly's SWAT team. Who--somewhat to their surprise--seemed delighted to see them.

"I was getting ready to storm in there," he said--a tall, beefy Italian policeman named Luzzio who seemed to Hank to be very competent. "But with _you_   guys here--" He shook his head. "This is really up your alley, you know. You've heard of this guy?"

They nodded. "Paste-Pot Pete," Maria added helpfully. Luzzio nodded.

"Yeah, I guess. Anyway--he just waltzes into this place with his damned paste gun, or whatever the hell you call it, and he sticks the bank guards to the floor, and he walks right up to the vault and gets out this sort of magnet, and the next thing you know the vault's doors are forced open easy as pie, and he just helps himself. By this time, half the cops in the city are here, but he seems oblivious to all this. And then he grabs a couple of female bank employees and says that they're staying with him until we all get lost. The others in the bank--customers and employees--have gotten out by then. But _he's_ still in there with his two hostages, and he sure as hell doesn't seem very concerned."

Hank nodded his comprehension, and Maria suddenly spoke up. "I know why he's confident, too," she said. "His partners in the Frightful Four--the Wizard, Medusa, and Electro. Are _they_ still in jail, or have they bust out, too?"

Luzzio looked intrigued. "Electro is still there," he said. "They've managed to find a hole he can't bust out of. Nobody knows where Medusa is. But the Wizard--he _did_   bust out, three days ago. Did it in a damned clever manner, too."

Hank nodded. "Of course. And the Wizard specializes in mastering gravity-- The Wizard is going to rescue Petey there by _flying_   him out of the bank."

Luzzio looked at the two of them with open admiration. "Pretty smart thinking, both of you. Yeah. That's just what they have planned. Can you guys stop 'em?"

Hank and Maria looked at each other. "We can but try," Hank said, and Maria smiled her agreement.

Five minutes later, Hank--sans glasses--was crawling up an elevator shaft inside the bank building, which was a good twelve stories high. His goal was the fourth floor, where he could reconnoiter with Maria, who was already there by the simple expedient of Shifting into a gaseous state and going up the ventilator shafts. The best information they had was that the Trapster was on the second floor with his hostages, looking around the offices of the bank's executives in case any more cash was to be found. Hank thought this wasn't a very intricately-planned caper, all things considered, but chalked that up to the Trapster, rather than the Wizard, who had at least come up with good plans in the past, however they had turned out in the end. He sighed. He wanted to get this over with and get back home. Mom had lasagna prepared tonight, with pork and veal...

Perhaps it was his musing on such things, instead of his quarry--whom, it must be said, Hank estimated no higher than Maria did--that caused what happened next. Because he was one moment climbing the elevator shaft, and the next moment he heard the _thwick_   of a nozzle, and he found his feet and lower legs encased in paste. And a voice coming from underneath, a gloating voice that sounded like an intelligent ferret.

"Ha! Gotcha, you freak! Cripes, do you people think I'm _stupid?_   The TV cameras had you all over the screen when you showed up at the bank. Guess what? They have TV sets in _here,_ too! I've been waiting for you! Now, where's that walking dungpile, anyway? I've got to have an appropriate greeting for _her!_ Or should I say _it!_ "

Hank shut his eyes in sheer mortification. It wasn't bad enough that he had been caught so totally flat-footed by this particular bad guy. It was hearing said bad guy making cheap racist comments in the bargain. Being called a "freak" by Paste-Pot Pete, somehow, was worse than being called a freak by anybody else. He struggled up. He could still move his arms, and remembered when the Juggernaut had crippled him so badly. He was still feeling the effects of that adventure, or else he might have been able to break this damned paste off of his legs. As it was he pulled himself up, arms moving heavily, and he wondered why Pete hadn't finished him off. He mentally shrugged, finally deciding it was sheer carelessness and excitement at having "won" a battle, and having another target. Well, Maria would prove to be a tougher nut for him to crack. Or at least, Hank _hoped_   she would be. Look how easily Pete had snookered _him-_ -and he was supposedly the "smart" one. Hank laughed grimly. He would never make _that_   mistake again.

Finally, he reached the fourth floor level and opened the elevator doors with his bare hands. Gasping, he collapsed out into the corridor, the damned paste still clinging to his legs and feet. And from below he could suddenly hear the sounds of battle.

* * *

Maria, listening intently, heard no human sounds on the fourth floor. She wondered why. There hadn't been time to evacuate the whole building. Maybe everyone was just too scared to move a muscle. She passed an office, and heard nothing but a TV set droning on. She stopped dead. _A TV set--!_   Yes-- _yes._ My God, they were talking about the bank robbery! That meant that Pete could have seen them enter the damned building! If he was watching out for them...

 _Hank._ She looked around, saw the elevator doors. She opened them, and looked down. Yes--there he was, thank God. He was OK, but his legs were pinned, there was paste all over them! She started to reach down to get him, but at that moment she saw Pete--the ridiculous "Trapster"--running down a corridor away from her here, on the fourth floor. Oh, hell. Sorry, Hank. Getting the bad guy was priority number one. And Hank didn't look injured--just undignified. _I'll be back when I've corralled this idiot._ She took off in pursuit, and saw Pete enter the stairwell and head down. Maria followed as quickly as she could, extending her arms towards him as he fled down the stairs, just missing him as he entered the second floor office area. She reached the same floor, and moved out into the same area--

\--And ran right into a faceful of paste, hitting her as she looked around for Pete. The paste wrapped itself around her head and shoulders, and she was blinded for a second. Then she used her powerful hands to pull some of it off of her face, at least enough to enable her to see. To see Pete running towards a far stairwell, and head down yet again. She ran after him as best she could, the hardened paste still enveloping much of her head and neck. She tried to rip it off as she ran, but it was tough little stuff, doing so wasn't easy, it didn't _want_   to come off. Maria ran into the stairwell and headed down to the first floor, cursing herself for being caught flatfooted after what happened to Hank, cursing the Trapster, cursing television, cursing just about everybody and everything.

This time, at least, she had sense enough to look first. Seeing no sign of Pete, she gingerly walked into the main bank area. No sign of the hostages-- A scream, from the vault area. Well, that was easy. Maria headed towards the vault, suddenly Shifting to her Oak form, just to see if that would cause the damned paste to fall off. To her surprise, it did, and she Shifted back, a total mess--especially her hair--but at least free of paste. She heard a frantic Pete talking into some sort of wrist-radio telephone out of _Dick Tracy._

"--Those mutie freaks, the X-Men, that's who! Two of 'em, Wiz. Which ones? Cripes, wait a minute--the squat one like a monkey--yeah, the Beast--and the freak who looks like a walking quarry. Yeah, Shift. Well, the Beast I fixed--got his legs good. As for Shift, I pegged her, too--she won't be able to wash her hair for a long time!" He paused. "What's that? Oh, I left him climbing up to the next floor. He can't do anything. I went after Shift. No, I don't know where she is now." Silence. "Well, gee, Wiz, there's no need to get _angry._ I've got 'em both licked--"

Maria sighed. That was enough. Time to wrap this up. This ridiculous battle had gone on long enough. The hostages were sitting on the floor, their hands bound and their mouths covered with paste--no doubt a result of the scream she had heard earlier. She Shifted into her water form--

\--And watched, open-mouthed, as Hank appeared from nowhere, legs free of paste, and smacked the Trapster a good one. Pete fell, unconscious, to the floor, and Maria Shifted back to normal, running into the vault.

"Hank! How did you get free?"

He laughed. "Simplicity itself, my beloved. I found a fire ax, and used it to break the paste off of me. Then I got down here pronto--from the other side you came, presumably--and administered the _coup de grace_ to our pasty friend." He walked over to the hostages. "If you'll give me a hand, my dear--"

Maria soon had the hostages free of their paste, and the two women were effusive in their gratitude. Hank meanwhile spoke into Pete's mini-phone.

"Mr Wizard, is it? I used to watch you on TV all the time...now, now--no call for language like _that._ Mr Trapster, I fear, is in Morpheus' grasp at the moment, and won't be coming back to us for some time. And when he does, I fear he'll be back where he belongs--behind nice, sturdy bars. A fact that might cause you, sir, to reconsider your own course in life--"

But Hank put the phone down with a chuckle a moment later, the Wizard apparently not interested in this well-meant advice. They got the hostages out of the bank, delivered the Trapster to the police, answered some questions from the press, and headed back to Reading feeling pretty good about themselves and the world. And looking forward to some lasagna, which they both felt they had earned today.


	66. Round Table

Chapter Sixty-six

* * *

_The power sings within her--suddenly, miraculously,_ _nothing_ _seems beyond her grasp-- And as she reenergizes the shield matrix, it's as if a door opens wide before her. A new pattern forms--shaped like the mystic Tree of Life--with Xavier its lofty crown and Colossus its base. Each X-Man has a place, each a purpose greater than him or herself. Below Colossus, beneath the foundation, the_ _dream_ _that sustains them all--Xavier's dream of a world where mutant and human will live in peace. And lastly, the_ _heart_ _of the tree--the catalyst that binds these wayward souls together--is_ _Phoenix_ _. Child of the Sun, Child of Life, the vision of the harmony of things._

Jean Summers awoke in a sweat. _Oh, God--_ She moved softly, silently, out of bed, not disturbing Scott. Pulling a robe around her, she walked to the window and looked out at the grounds of the Mansion. That vision--her memory of the Crystal--was coming to her more and more. Inevitably, as she came closer to facing up to what she had to do.

_My God, I've been shirking my responsibilities._ _Me_ _. Who would have thought it?_

She shivered, though it was a warm spring night. Despair overcame her for a moment. It had been too easy. For too long. She had dared to think that the great issues were behind them. That they had overcome all they had to overcome. That they were _safe._ Well, old girl, there's no safety this side of the grave, is there? And the utter absurdity of _that_   thought almost made her laugh out loud.

_Maria. I'm sorry, at what I have to do. But it was there from the start. Always, it was there. And it must be corrected._

Finally, reluctantly, she returned to bed. But sleep took long in returning, and when it did her dreams gave her no solace.

* * *

Two days later, a full meeting of the Round Table was convened. Jean waited in a small anteroom, as always, for the others to assemble ahead of her. She hadn't spoken privately with Maria at any length since she and Hank had returned to Earth. And it would have to be today. No more putting it off. She _knew_   what she had to do.

Finally, a small buzzer went off in the anteroom, and Jean straightened herself, took a deep breath. She mustn't show a hint of this in the meeting. Too many of them would notice--not least Maria herself. She opened the door, and entered the Conference Room. All of them stood around the table, looking at her. She assumed her position at the far western end of the table, pulled her chair out, and stood, facing the others. They all bowed their heads, and she returned the gesture. Then Jean sat down, and they all followed.

Jean shut her eyes just for a second, opening them before anyone noticed anything odd. She looked around her. The damned "Round Table"... She hated it with a passion, but public opinion had insisted, and she had never felt like making an issue of it. She was certain that one of the people around the table had quietly put the idea out as a media trial balloon, years ago, and she had always wondered who the culprit had been. Her eyes settled on Kitty Rasputin. Jean definitely had her suspicions of Young Katherine. Who, of course, indignantly denied any complicity. But Jean wondered all the same...

She sighed to herself. The table was thirty feet across, and there was a full house, of course. Around the table, to her left, was Lorna Dane Summers, recording the meeting, efficient and business-like as always. After her was Namor, still looking exactly as he had during their first encounter, almost fifty years ago. He seemed to be in good spirits, having enjoyed some joke with Eric Lehnsherr, here from Genosha, sitting beyond him. Eric seemed to have recovered his vitality since their discussion of a week ago, but Jean noticed him looking at her with a sudden frown. Beyond him sat Ororo, regal as ever, not looking much different than she did when she joined the team, only a few wrinkles around her eyes and perhaps a few more pounds on her frame. She sat there serenely, as always. Beyond her was Bobby Drake--and perhaps, Jean thought, it was significant that even now he was known as "Bobby". Though his hair was gray, he still had traces of a baby-face. He was laughing with Warren next to him, who wore his sixty-five years gracefully, gray hair and beard, lines of laughter surrounding his mouth. After Warren was Logan, looking exactly the same as ever, watching Jean with a sly look. She worried about him guessing more than any of the others. After him, directly across from Jean, was Maria. She was looking intently at Jean, no smiles on her face today, and for a moment Jean wondered if Maria suspected something. Then Maria noticed Jean looking at her, and she smiled and blew her a kiss, which Jean frowned at--hopefully, a good-natured "frown". Hank was after her, his fur turning silver which just made him all the more distinguished-looking. He was following the byplay between Maria and Jean, and shrugged bemusedly when Jean turned her attention to him. Charles was after Hank, and Jean, for a moment, felt her heart sink. Charles was over eighty now, and had recently been diagnosed with cancer. The diagnosis was terminal, and he refused any attempts on Jean's part to purge the cancer out of his system, and any attempts on Hank's part to clone a new body for him. He was adamant. He had had his time, and was ready--willing--to take the next step of the path. He had joked with Jean that she could purge him of his illnesses _there,_ but she didn't find the comment amusing. After Charles was Alex, whose blond hair had turned gray so gracefully that no one--with the possible exception of Lorna--could say just when the change had happened. He sat there quietly, turning over a pencil with his fingers. After Alex was En Sabah Nur, who filled his chair up and a little more. He sat there expectantly, and respectfully. Jean had seen to _that_   many years ago, when they had had their final dispute as to the meaning of the word "strength". A dispute which had ended unambiguously. Kitty Rasputin followed, a smile on her now middle-aged face, but withal she looked as elfin as ever. Essex followed, the only non-mutant present but still recognized as essential. Now that his...eccentricities...had been ironed out of his system, he was an invaluable member of the Round Table. Finally, at her right hand, there was Scott, who smiled at her, that smile that even now, after nearly fifty years, sustained her as nothing else did. She offered him her hand, and he squeezed it.

Jean coughed lightly, and all discussion ceased. They turned towards her. "I now declare this meeting of the Executive Council of the X-Men open," she said simply. Lorna looked at her notes.

"April 12, 2012," she said. "Lorna Dane Summers, Recording Secretary. 9:24 a.m., Eastern Daylight Time. The first order of business is the taking up of old business. Is there any old business?" she asked, looking at Jean. Who shrugged.

"Not as far as I know," she said quietly. "Anyone else?" There was silence, and then Kitty coughed slightly.

"I would like to know if the Chair has reconsidered her position on the possibility of a Lady Gaga concert on the west grounds of the School." There was a titter of laughter, and Jean sighed to herself. She looked at Kitty with a very slight frown.

"Mrs Rasputin, I believe I have reached the point in my life that I can pick and choose what alarums and excursions these grounds will have. Public occasions--fine. Concerts--great. If _I_   can tolerate the noise and the hoopla. In this case, I do not believe the upset to my simple pleasures is worth the hassle. Does that answer your question?"

"It does," Kitty answered, an almost insolent smile on her face. "I should, however, like to remind some of our rapidly-aging senior X-Men and living legends that they just might be disappointing the onrushing younger generation, who will be taking over one of these days--maybe sooner than anyone suspects." She was silent for a second. "Just sayin'."

Jean smiled tightly. Kitty was usually not exactly reverent in her presence--and thank God for it. The younger generation could never see Jean as a _person._ She was too much of a Goddess for that. Even here, even at the Mansion. With the general public--here on Earth, and out in the Universe--she was nothing _but_   a Goddess figure. But here, with these people in this room, and a handful of others, she was still "Jean". It wouldn't have been tolerable without that.

Lorna cleared her throat. "OK, then--no more old business. New business?" she asked, and this time there was more animation around the table. Essex raised his hand. Jean nodded.

"The Chair recognizes Nathaniel Essex."

Essex smiled, bowing his head at Jean. "Thank you, Madame Chairwoman. We have recently received a communication from a Galaxy designated RDZ-100986-56788. This is one from which no signs of intelligence had been discerned previously. But the signal is very clear, and very definite. They have been searching for us for a long time, naturally. This Galaxy is--" he consulted a paper-- "two hunded and thirty million light-years distant." There was a slight buzz around the table.

"That's extraordinary," En Sabah Nur rumbled. "Over fifty million light-years distant than any previous communication."

Hank nodded his agreement. "It justifies von Doom's theory--that the Crystal--and _you-_ -" he said, nodding to Jean-- "act like a giant magnet. Emanating further and further out into the Universe, attracting more and more galaxies--and intelligences--towards us. Towards the center of the Universe."

Jean nodded. Victor's theory kept making more and more sense. Sooner or later, if he was right, the whole Universe would be within the Crystal's sphere of influence "spiritually", as it were. It already was physically, of course. "What does the message consist of?"

Essex smiled. "A statement of interest, a request for more information, questions concerning the Crystal--of which they have heard only vague rumors." His smile grew broader. "And a desire to know exactly what sacrifices to make to the great Goddess of the Stars, Phoenix." The whole Round Table exploded in laughter, and Jean shut her eyes. Opening them, she found that, unfortunately, she was still here.

"And just what answer are we considering making to this heart-rending communication?" she asked. Essex shrugged.

"The usual. We shall send them by uni-wave the M'Kraan Matrix, giving them the information regarding the Crystal and--ahem--your interaction with it. Then we hit them with the news regarding the Universal Peace that pervades within the sphere of the Treaty of Zenn-La. Which is pretty much to say, everybody."

"Unless you count the Badoon," Bobby said, and another laugh swept over the Table.

"I think we can safely ignore _them,_ " Jean said. "Let them stay within their pathetic little solar system. As long as they don't bother anyone else, I don't care if they're formally at 'war' with Earth." She turned to Essex again. "And the 'sacrifices'? What are we going to say about _that?_ "

Ororo smiled. "Perhaps we should tell them that the Goddess does not approve of sacrificing sentient beings? _That,_ at least, has worked with other races."

"It can't hurt," Jean said. "It's too much for some of these races to give up sacrifices completely. At least at first. But if we can prevent Aztec-type outrages--" She shivered. It still appalled her, that sacrifices of intelligent beings had been made in _her_ name, however ignorantly. Then a thought, the merest flicker-- _Oh, Jeannie dearest! You_ _know_ _you love it!_ But no, _that_   demon had been mastered long ago. Jean would not countenance it being unleashed again. Ever again.

In the event, Essex agreed with Jean's assessment, and the matter was tabled for further study. Other new business was broached. Eric wanted to know if President Obama was considering enacting tariffs on Genoshan grain. Alex argued that that was an internal American political matter, and not the proper business of the Round Table. Eric argued that, as Genosha's President _and_   a member of the Table, he was within his rights to bring the matter up. Jean ruled that while technically American economic issues were not within the purview of the Table, and Eric should remember this for future reference, she would nevertheless bring the matter up in her monthly meeting with Barack in two weeks. Both Eric and Alex were satisfied with this answer.

Other business--Sabertooth was requesting release from psychiatric confinement yet again. Logan tensed up; and Jean answered--as she always did in this matter--that Victor Creed would be freed when Hell froze over. Logan smiled, and the Table nodded their agreement. A mutant youth group in Spain petitioned to permit themselves to be educated in different schools from human children. Jean frowned, and rejected the request, as she had similar ones in the past. The Smithsonian wanted to permit a whole, but defunct, Sentinel to be exhibited at the Museum of History and Technology. There was some debate over this one. Many members--led by Eric and, somewhat to Jean's surprise, Warren--wanted to flatly refuse. Any public showing of a Sentinel sent the wrong message. Others--led by Charles and Ororo--thought that showing the dangers of the past would show how far everyone had progressed. Jean finally shook her head, not quite sure. Maria raised her hand, and Jean recognized her.

"Madame Chairwoman, I don't care about the 'message' showing one of those monstrosities would send. The Smithsonian isn't Western Union; sending messages isn't their job. It's a museum of _history._ And Sentinels are as much a part of history as Auschwitz or Treblinka. We keep _them_ standing. I don't see that keeping a Sentinel in the Smithsonian would be any different."

Eric looked a little chagrined, and Jean thought: _Good for you, Maria!_   The sense of the Table was that exhibiting the Sentinel was an appropriate activity for the Smithsonian Institution. Some other minor matters were discussed, and finally Lorna coughed again.

"If there is no more new business--?" she said, looking around the table. No one spoke. "Very well. In that case, this meeting of the Executive Council of the X-Men is closed at 11:12 a.m., April 12, 2012." She shut her notebook, and everyone looked at Jean. She stood up, and everyone stood with her. They bowed their heads again, and she followed suit, and the meeting broke up into small knots of people, talking softly. Jean sighed to herself. A relatively unimportant meeting, as they went, but that was good. It showed that things were progressing. Then it hit her--what she had to do. And her heart broke.

Scott noticed. "Jean--hey. Are you OK?"

Jean shook her head. "No, Scott. No, I'm not OK."

He squeezed her hand. "Then it's today?"

She nodded, looking into his eyes. "Yes, Scott. Now."

He licked his lips. "Good luck, Jean." He looked guiltily at Maria, and withdrew. Maria, Jean noticed, had seen this little by-play and excusing herself from Hank, Warren and Bobby came over to her.

"Jean--?" she asked. "Is something the matter?"

Jean looked her old friend right in the eyes. "Maria--would you please come to my study in fifteen minutes?"

"Of course," Maria answered, eyes puzzled. Jean withdrew from the Conference Room, went to her study, and broke down in tears.

* * *

Maria watched Jean go, feeling baffled. Something was wrong. Something serious. Jean hadn't really talked to her privately since she and Hank had returned from their trip to the Kree Empire, and all of a sudden Maria had a bad feeling as to why. She walked back to Hank, and he quizzed her with his eyebrows. She shrugged.

"She wants to see me. Alone. In her study."

Hank looked unhappy. "Indeed. I wonder why."

"I guess I'll know in fifteen minutes."

"She doesn't want me, too?"

Maria shook her head. "No, she just said for me to come. It's funny, when you come right down to it-- Did she seem out of sorts at all to _you_   during the meeting?"

Hank shook his head. "No, Maria. No, I can't say that she did."

"Well, she did to _me._ Maybe I just know what to look for...anyway, we'll see." She kissed the balding top of his head and went to their apartment, had a drink of ginger ale, and slowly walked to Jean's study, getting more and more nervous with every step. Finally, she stopped outside the door, took a deep breath, and knocked.

"Come in, Maria." Maria entered the study, and saw Jean standing at the window to the right of her desk, back turned to Maria, facing east across the grounds of the School. She turned around and went over and hugged Maria. "Thanks for coming, Maria. Thanks a lot."

"OK, Jean. Now I'm officially spooked. What's going on, anyway? I felt it during the meeting. I'm _seeing_ it now. What is it?"

"Oh," Jean said, with a bad attempt at a carefree smile. "I'm that transparent, huh?"

"I'm afraid so."

Jean laughed. "Oh, God!" Maria looked closely at her old friend. Sixty-five, but still beautiful. Maybe more so now then when she was a girl, when they first met. Her face wasn't exactly unlined, but the lines didn't show age, or at least if they did the age enhanced what, who Jean was. And even the gray hair...the loss of Jean's red hair hadn't taken anything away from her beauty. Maria wouldn't have believed that, but it was true nonetheless. Jean Grey Summers, as she aged, became something unique unto herself--a fact that shouldn't have really surprised anybody.

Jean laughed again, and Maria could feel how tense her old friend--and mistress--was. Suddenly, without quite knowing why, Maria stepped back and bowed her head.

"How may I serve you, Lady Phoenix?" she asked in her best formal voice, without a hint of humor or irony. Jean looked at her with a smile.

"Maria--dear Maria," Jean said in a soft, tender voice. "My closest friend. My greatest paladin. There has never been a time when you weren't there for me. When you haven't sacrificed _everything_ to be there for me. Not even Scott has showed such absolute loyalty."

Maria flushed. The name "Emma Frost" did not come up between the two women very often, and hadn't even when Emma had still been Headmistress of the School. Maria, in an attempt to lighten the mood, laughed and looked behind her. "Are you talking to _me?_ " she asked when she looked back at Jean. "It sounded almost as if you were reciting my obituary. You know something I don't know, Red?"

Jean didn't join in the laughter, and Maria really looked hard at her old friend. "For God's sake, Jean-- _what is it?_ "

Jean took Maria's hand. "Maria--you _have_   shown me absolute loyalty. I had thought--hoped--that the days of great struggles, great battles, great sacrifices, were over. That we had set upon a course that would keep going, forever. And at least that _we,_ here--the First Class, our generation--would have the peace and tranquility we deserved. That we'd all live happily ever after."

Maria sat down on the sofa, finding it difficult to take a breath. "What is it, Jean?" she asked softly, looking up at her friend. "What would you have me do?"

"Maria--" For an instant Jean could not continue. "Maria," she said then, in a stronger voice, "I have to ask you to make one more sacrifice. A terrible one. One that will wound me as much as it will you. Maybe more."

A terrible sob racked Maria Gianelli McCoy in that moment, as she realized that Jean Grey--Phoenix--was asking her to sacrifice her life, and everyone whom she loved. She didn't know why yet, and it didn't matter. Jean would not ask this without damned good cause; and there was no chance that Maria would refuse her. After many years of tranquility and happiness, and every expectation of it lasting for the rest of her physical life, that life was over. Just like that. Tears started running down her face, and she didn't try to hide them. She felt Jean's hand on her wrist.

"Maria--Maria--" Jean's voice seemed to come from a long distance away, and Maria realized that she was in a state of shock. Then she sensed Jean's mental presence in her head, soothing her, relaxing her, filling her with an absolute love. Maria shuddered all over and smiled at Jean.

"Thanks, Red. I needed that. As they used to say in the movies."

"Of course, you damned freak." Jean sat down next to Maria on the couch. "Maria--I have so much to explain. But it has to begin here, with this. The two of us. We've been so close--ever since the day we met. You remember?"

Maria smiled nostalgically. "I'm not likely to forget _that,_ Jeannie. That day outside Williamsport, Pennslyvania. Frank had just found me, after four years. I was distraught, and sent out mental beacons in my despair. You heard them, and came to me. Eric trapped us, and I saved us both. But in the meantime--" She laughed lightly. "Oh, God! Jean--I was so raw and untamed, almost more of a wild animal than a person. And you made me love you. You _made_ me love you. You hit me on every level I had, just because you were _you._ I not only accepted your love--I not only joined the X-Men--but I shared my deepest secret with you. 'Anna'. And to this day, I'm not quite sure why I did _that._ I just did. You made it impossible for me _not_   to."

Jean heard this with a smile of remembrance on her face. "Oh yes, Maria. Oh, yes! I remember it as if it was yesterday." She looked Maria right in the eyes. "You remember that day, Maria? June 9, 1964?"

Maria nodded, suddenly feeling like something wasn't right. She felt a buzzing in her head, a sense that the Universe was slowly but inexorably moving off its center of gravity. "I remember it well, Jean."

"Yes," Jean said softly, and Maria's feeling of disorientation kept growing. "And before that--"

"Before that," Maria said, "were the four years of Torches and Pitchforks. The wandering, the belknapping, the hopelessness. And before that, the circus freak show and Essex and Dad. And before that, Mom and her attempt on my life. And before that, before I mutated, my childhood. And as a baby, Mom sending me to her pocket dimension. The sad story of my life." Maria laughed, but it sounded wrong even to her. " _You_   know all that, Jean."

"Yes, Maria, I know all that." And Jean's voice was so strange that Maria couldn't hold it in anymore.

"Jean--what are you trying to tell me?"

"Maria--" Jean licked her lips, and stared at the floor. Then she thought better of that, and looked her old friend square in the eyes again. "Maria--you remember the day before we met? June 8, 1964? When the mob of men from Williamsport pursued you, and Mastermind scattered them, and scattered _you_ as well?"

Maria nodded. "Yes, Jean. Yes, of course I remember that day."

"After those four years of the Torches and Pitchforks, of your wandering in the wild across the country?"

"Yes, of course." Maria watched Jean carefully. The buzzing in her head was getting worse, and something was happening to her--some transformation she couldn't fathom. Forget it. Concentrate totally on Jean.

"Of course." And Jean Grey Summers grabbed her friend's face with her hands, and looked right into Maria's face, right into her soul. "But Maria-- _it's all wrong._ "

" 'Wrong?' " Maria said. "What do you mean, Jean--'wrong'?"

"Maria--you never spent four years wandering the country. You never spent four years with the Torches and the Pitchforks. You never were exhibited as a freak by your father, or were attacked by your mother. Maria-- _you never had a father and a mother._ "

Maria shut her eyes. She had to, because the buzzing was drowning her. Her ears listened to Jean Grey's words, but they didn't register them. The world was dissolving, leaving nothing but chaos in its wake. "Jean--?" she asked weakly. "Jean--?"

Jean's hands squeezed Maria's, giving her all the love and light that Phoenix could provide. And for once, that wasn't enough. More tears came to Jean's face.

"Maria--you never had parents. You never had a family. You never had a life, a childhood. Maria-- _you came into existence on June 8, 1964. 'Maria Gianelli' didn't exist before that day._ "


	67. The Phoenix' Tale

Chapter Sixty-seven

* * *

Jean watched, as Maria's face, body, started to melt. The beautiful, confident woman she had always known started to sob, falling to her knees and putting her hands over her face. Jean was down there with her, kissing her, calling her name, and after awhile Maria seemed to listen. She looked at Jean with a ravaged face, suddenly looking her age and more, looking old, old and lost.

"Jean--this is really true? What you're telling me?"

"You know it is, Maria," Jean said gently, and Maria nodded.

"Yes," she said, getting up and sitting down on the couch. Jean leaned against her desk, watching her friend with all the compassion in the world in her eyes. Maria sighed heavily.

"My God," she said. "Oh my God-- Very well." Suddenly, she was herself again, and considering first things first. "My daughter. Can she be saved, Jean?"

Jean gulped. "Maria--I don't know."

Maria nodded. "I see. You don't know. _You_   don't know. Is this Wanda's children all over again?"

Jean shook her head. "Maybe. Maria-- _I don't know._ I mean that literally. I am inclined to think that young Jean is safe. Wanda's children, after all, were--in the end. But there are so many factors--" She stopped, because she couldn't go on. And Maria Gianelli McCoy understood instantly why.

"Oh, my God," she said, a look of horror passing over her ravaged face. " _I_   won't know, either. I'll--travel--to my destination...and I'll _never know._ " Her eyes sought out Jean's, pupils dilated. "That's it, isn't it, Jean?"

"Yes, Maria," Jean said, nodding solemnly. "That's it."

"Oh my God." Maria looked down at the floor, her voice dull and listless. "Phoenix--you are asking much of me. Maybe too much for me to bear."

Jean found for a moment that she couldn't answer. Finally, she cleared her throat and sighed. "I am aware of what I am asking, Maria. I have thought of little else for weeks now. Believe me, I _know._ " She leaned over and took Maria's hand. "But it will not be too much for you to bear. Because I know you, and because you _must_ bear it."

With a deep sigh, Maria leaned back on the sofa and looked at Jean, face still ravaged. "OK, Red. Let's get down to brass tacks. What the hell is going on? Who _am_   I? Where was I _before_ June 8, 1964? And what do I need to do? Obviously, I'm going to do it. Your request is a command, to me, to all of us. But if I'm going to be exiled forever, I want to know the score. So tell me all about it."

Jean almost laughed. Here was the Maria Gianelli she knew--and loved. Swift, sure, fearless, even when her heart was breaking and her life turned upside-down. How could Jean endure losing her?

"Very well, Maria. It can be summed up in three words: You are Da'ath."

Maria was silent for a very long time. "The hell you say," she finally said, and there was almost a smile on her face. "Our old friend Da'ath? The Abyss, the Unknown Sephira? The Hidden Place in the Tree of Life? Little old me?"

"Little old you," Jean said, almost laughing because it was Maria, and they were having maybe their last discussion together, and Jean Summers was determined to wring every drop of love, every drop of laughter, every drop of tears, out of it. "I was inside the M'Kraan Crystal. The Emperor D'Ken was about to wipe out all of existence. The X-Men were with me--Scott, Charles, Ororo, Logan, Sean, Kurt, Peter. They were all there with me, as I was healing the matrix within the Crystal. I made the Universe anew in that moment. In the form of the Tree. The X-Men were used as a template. Kether, Malkuth, Chockmah, Binah, Yesod--all had their place. And me, Phoenix--Tiphareth--the balance, the glue that healed and remade all of existence. But Maria--at that instant, I realized something else. I realized that something was missing."

"Missing," Maria said hollowly. "Missing."

"Yes. It was all there, and it was adequate for my purposes--saving the Universe. _Reforging_   the Universe. That was accomplished. But Maria--I needed something more. _I_   needed something more. I needed Da'ath. And in that instant, you were created."

"Created." Maria looked shellshocked. Jean nodded.

"Yes, Maria. In that instant, in all realities that included the X-Men, you appeared. Full-blown. In answer to my call."

"Full-blown." Maria finally shook her head. "But Jean--! I r _emember_ my life, my childhood. Long before 1964. You're telling me--?"

"I'm telling you, Maria, that none of it was real. You appeared in all realities at the same instant--June 8, 1964, in _our_   chronology. Somehow, your existence was--is--at 'right angles' to the rest of the Universe. I can't describe it better than that with words. I used an infinitesimally small piece of the Crystal to create you--to balance the rest. Because without Da'ath, the Tree, the Crystal, _was_   out of balance. I was able to do what I had to do. But it was like physics without the Hidden Variable, or mathematics without the square root of negative one. Something that was missing--perhaps didn't exist, on one level--but which was necessary for it all to hang together."

"But Jean--my memories!"

"When you were created, your memories were created along with you."

"But what about Frank! Are you saying _he_ isn't real?"

Jean smiled. "Oh, no. Frank Gianelli is very stubbornly real. But Maria--in the 'real' Universe, Frank Gianelli had no sister. In the 'real' Universe, your mother wasn't a mutant, and never placed you in a pocket universe of her own. When I created you, I warped reality just enough to give you a plausible--a _real-_ -background."

"But why 1964?" Maria asked. "Why not 1968, when you were actually inside the Crystal?"

Jean sat down next to Maria on the sofa and took her hands in her own. "OK, girl--this is where it gets interesting."

"It hasn't been interesting _before_ this?"

Jean laughed--a long, full-bodied laugh such as her friends had always known. "OK, OK! But this is even _more_   interesting. Maria--I told you, I needed Da'ath. I needed the Hidden Sephira, to balance _me,_ as Phoenix--Tiphareth--balanced the Tree of Life itself. I saw Dark Phoenix in the Crystal, though I didn't remember it at the time. I knew that maintaining my strength--my balance, if you will--would take much out of me--perhaps more than I could bear. I needed someone--someone _physical,_ someone _close_ \--to be there for me. To help me. And Maria--think back on our lives together. Doesn't it all make sense?"

Maria shut her eyes. "It makes perfect sense, Jean."

"Yes," Jean said, almost shyly. "Yes, Maria, it does. You have saved me. More than once. From myself. And once--on the Moon--that involved killing me. And once, you returned me to life when my body was supposedly moldering in a grave on the Mansion grounds. And once you told me in plain terms where I was going wrong--and I listened, and I knew where I had taken a wrong turn. And human history--mutant history--Cosmic history--was ready to really begin."

"Yes," Maria said. "And Jean--you have saved me, too. Physically, spiritually. You have absolved me. You made me 'human', made it possible for me to have young Jeannie. You're saying this was all _planned--?_ "

"Yes, Maria," Jean said. "Yes, Da'ath. From the beginning. You were meant to complement me. As for 1964--well, I needed you _before_   I became Phoenix. I needed you in my life so that we could bond, and you could be ready for your role when it came."

Maria shook her head. "You mean my 'death' in 1966--my enslavement, and subsequent rise to power in the Rim Alliance--was all _planned?_   By _you_?  Just so I would be there on the Moon in 1968 to save you from yourself?"

"Not in the sense you mean. I didn't consciously plan it. But Phoenix knew what needed to be done, and did it, inside the Crystal. There have been many, many timelines, Maria--where different scenarios happened. But because of the nature of your creation, they all 'converge'--a clumsy word, but I can think of none better--towards a congruent reality they all have in common."

"And of course, the Crystal cuts across _all_ realities," Maria muttered.

"Of course. And think, Maria! Think of who, what you are. I can return from death. That is the nature and meaning of Phoenix. But you! Maria--you, too, possess this power. Maria--when you were blown to pieces in 1966, you were reduced to _atoms._ And yet _that_   didn't kill you! In your natural state as 'Shift', Maria, you were indestructible and immortal. Yes, it could be 'explained' as a consequence of your supposed mutation. But don't you see what it really was? _I needed someone to complement me._ I needed someone to be there when I needed them. I needed Da'ath. I needed _you._ "

Maria looked at Jean with a strange smile. "And you needed someone to love you."

Jean took her friend's hand. "Yes, my darling. Yes. That, too. Remember how we bonded so totally that first meeting! Remember how you revealed to me your most intimate secret! Remember how I unmasked myself to you--a stranger whom I had just met! Maria--that was more than just a meeting of friends. It was a meeting of _soulmates._ Because that's exactly what we _were._ Literally. Tiphareth and Da'ath, in one sense--Jean and Maria, in another. Both mortal incarnations of something so much more."

"OK," Maria said. "OK, Jean. I get what you're saying so far. I really do, believe it or not. But what I _don't_ get is why you never knew any of this until _now._ Yes, maybe your creating me as 'Da'ath' in the Crystal was an unconscious reflex. But Jean--that was over _forty_   years ago! What happened to make you realize all this?"

Jean sighed. "Wanda."

Maria started. "Wanda? _Our_ Wanda? _The_   Wanda? _That_ Wanda?"

"Yes," Jean said wearily. "You know--well, her state of mind."

"Of course."

"Right. Well, a few weeks ago we got a message from Jason Wyngarde at Wundagore Mountain. Wanda was being even more...unpredictable...than usual. You know how I have to maintain a Quarantine Zone around Wundagore." Maria nodded. "Right. It's a small but constant mental burden. Like having a grain of sand, so to speak, in my mind. I contacted Wanda telepathically. She was working hard to break through the Quarantine. We spoke mentally, and I thought I had calmed her down a little. But then she started talking about _you,_ Maria--all about how I should have trusted _her_   all these years instead of you, how _she_ would have been just as faithful and even more useful. It was a sad discussion, because she was so serious about it, and so deranged at the same time. And somehow, as I was mentally communicating with her and thinking about you, she sensed something in my thoughts. Something I didn't know myself. And she was gleeful, utterly delighted, and cast a hex right at that instant.

" 'Oh!' she cried out to me in my mind. 'What might _that_   be, Jean! What might _that_   be!' I was stunned, because her use of her hex powers at _just_   that moment had revealed something to me. And it had something to do with _you._ I worked to track the knowledge, whatever it was, down, and Wanda laughed and utilized her hex power again. And in that instant, everything that occurred in the Crystal was clear to me-- _everything._ I sat just where you are now, on the sofa, breaking off mental contact with Wanda--but not before I heard one last gloating shriek of triumph from her mind. I just sat here, and felt myself in a state of total shock. Everything about you, me, the Crystal, Da'ath, Tiphareth, all of it, just washed over me like a wave. Wanda had broken my own mental block. I remembered it all. I just sat there, crying my eyes out. It was all so beautiful, and so terrifying, and so sad--because I knew how much you love Frank, and how your family troubles had molded you. Or so we had always thought..." Jean sighed, stood up and went to the window. She felt the intensity of Maria's stare, watching her back. "And then--"

"Then," Maria said almost under her breath.

"Yes, Maria. _Then_   I realized in a rush of knowledge something else. I realized what I had to do. What I needed _you_ to do."

Maria stood up and joined Jean by the window. She looked out over the grounds. "I love this place," she said. "See--right over there? Where the Thinker zapped us both? And I showed my 'Anna' form to the boys for the first time?"

Jean smiled. "I remember _that_   all too well! And over there--where my 'grave' was, after my second death." Jean looked sad for a moment. "Poor Madelyne. That was where Scott outfoxed her once and for all."

Maria nodded. "Oh, yes. And _there!_ " She pointed well to the left, just at the edge of the woods. "Remember, Jean? Where Cain attacked us for the first time? And my diamond form was destroyed?"

"Yes, Maria. I remember it all." She took Maria's hand. "Those were good times, good years."

"Yes." Maria paused. "So I have to return to 1964."

Jean sighed. "I'm glad you see it already, Maria. Yes, my dear. You must."

"And there'll be no returning."

"...No."

"No. Of course not." She looked right in Jean's eyes. "How will it be done? A time machine?"

Jean shook her head. "No. No, it's more involved than that. Maria--you have to return to _all_ realities. All of them, simultaneously."

Maria looked startled. Jean thought her heart would break. "Huh?"

"You don't see it?" Jean said gently. "Maria--the Crystal encompasses all realities. So, too, must you."

Maria scratched her head. "I think I'm beginning to see--but Jean! _How_   are we going to do this?"

Jean sighed--a deep sigh of sheer unhappiness. "Maria--we have to enter the Crystal. You and me. _That's_   the only place this can be done."

"The Crystal!" Maria looked stunned. "And from there--?"

"From there, you'll be dispersed to infinity--but all the same, converging on the same date. April 1, 1964. Right before you manifested yourself. Other chronologies will have other dates, but that--1964--is the one which will cast its shadows through time. And hopefully, the circle will be unbroken."

"I see." Maria looked out at the grounds once more. "And how soon? How much time have I got?"

"Perhaps a week," Jean said. "Maybe ten days. I'm sorry, but the physics of it are clear. _That_ is the time we must use as a gateway."

Maria flinched slightly. "So be it," she said. "What exactly are you going to be doing within the Crystal, anyway?"

Jean laughed. "I? Nothing!"

Maria looked confused. "What do you mean? Aren't you going to--?"

"No," Jean said. "No, Maria, I'll merely be the midwife, so to speak."

"--You're not serious," Maria said after a moment. "Wanda?"

"Yes," Jean said. "I'll be going to Wundagore. And returning with her."

"My God!" Maria looked anxiously at Jean. "Do you really know what the hell you're doing, Red? If you'll excuse my language, our exalted Lady Phoenix."

Jean laughed--perhaps for the last time in response to something Maria said. Which made it all the sweeter. "I think I do, Miss Gianelli. I think I do."

Maria waved her hand. "Of course, of course. You know what I mean."

"I believe I do." Jean hugged her old friend. "And while I'm gone--"

"I'll make my farewells." Tears came to her face. "How much am I at liberty to say?"

"Anything you want. This isn't some secret mission. I'll be announcing it to everyone, including the media. This potentially affects everybody. The Universe has a right to know what we're doing."

"OK." Maria was silent for some time. "Ten days."

"That's right, Maria. We can stretch it _that_ far."

Maria smiled. "I will miss you, you know. Back there." She might have said more, but couldn't. Neither could Jean. Instead, the two old friends grabbed each other and started crying like babies.

* * *

Maria looked out her living room window, watching as the trees in their springtime greenery stretched north towards the Vermont border. She sighed. She loved this house, the memories that she and Hank had made there. The baby they had made there, against all probability. _Jeannie._ Maria shut her eyes. _I'll never know._ That was by far the worst of it.

A hand was placed gently on her shoulder. A furry hand. Hank nuzzled her neck, kissed her cheek, her ear, finally reached her lips as she turned her head towards him. And then kissed away some of the tears she was still shedding. Just when she thought there were none left, more appeared. And thinking this, yet more came, and she couldn't stop it, and didn't want to.

Hank let her do this for awhile, then put a furry finger over her lips. "Maria--please."

She nodded. "I know, Hank. I know." She turned around towards him, and took him in her arms, an intense embrace that she thought would break his ribs. But he finally laughed softly and she let go, refusing to cry again.

"I wish it was over, Hank," she said after a moment. "I hate farewells. Just kiss and leave, and say 'see you soon'. But this--"

Hank sighed. "It's damnably terminal, Maria."

She laughed. "Damnably." She looked out at the hills again. "I'm going to buy this place when I get back to 1964. I don't care what I have to pay. If I'm going to be exiled, at least I'll have _this._ With my memories of the future."

She sensed Hank's nod. "Agreed, dearest. Why not?" She sensed his hesitation before he spoke again. "Maria--try not to think too much about _me._ How I'm doing, I mean. I'll survive. I did before, when you were--missing."

She laughed. "Oh yeah--you might call being a galactic empress 'missing'."

"Yes," he said with a laugh. "But I was young then. Now, I'm old. We've had our time, old girl. And now--"

"The chimes at midnight," she said, a trace of bitterness in her voice that surprised her. Hank heard it too.

"Are you angry at Jean?" he asked.

Maria laughed. "Angry at Jean! How is that even _possible?_ "

Hank didn't answer for some time. "I rather think, my love, that _we_ are the only ones who _can_   be angry at her. Because we _do_   know her. We're her friends. Not her worshippers, like everybody else. We've seen her feet of clay."

"Yes," Maria said with a sigh. "Yes, Hank, I know. But you agree, don't you, that there is no alternative?"

"Oh, yes," Hank replied with the gentlest tone in the world. "I agree, Maria."

"You--you'll take care of yourself?" she asked for the hundredth time. "Not overeat, get exercise, keep Jean in her place--?"

Hank laughed. "Consider it done, dearest. All of it."

"Good."

Hank was silent again for awhile. "Da'ath," he finally said. "God--how much it all makes sense. How much it explains. Da'ath means 'knowledge'. At least in the main traditions. And to 'know'--we know what _that_ means in the Bible. Da'ath has masculine and feminine sides--Chockmah, and Binah. And when you appeared on that now-infamous Holy Day, June 8, 1964--"

Maria laughed--long and hard, like her laughter of old. "Guess who was sexually neuter?" She raised her hand. " _Moi!_   I had both functions then, and none. But my essential femininity was always there. 'Anna'. She was always present, as a template, an ideal that I could aspire to. Eventually, I 'knew' all right. I knew everything I had to. But the quest to get there was long and hard." She smiled at Hank. "As you recall, chum." And kissed him. And Hank laughed.

"My dear Miss Gianelli--that was a very 'knowing' smile." And they roared with laughter.

"Thank you, Hank," Maria said. "Thank you, for making me laugh, even now. _This_ is what I need. God knows, you've always been good at it."

"My pleasure, m'dear," he said. "I want to share every laugh we can get. No more tears, you hear? They can come after, if need be."

"It's a deal!" Maria said, and they kissed long and passionately. Then they parted, and both of them looked out at the mountains.

"Jeannie-- _our_ Jeannie--said something interesting on the cell phone an hour or so ago, when we talked," Hank said. "Ever since Jean announced what's going on, we've received over _three trillion_ messages. Mostly e-mails and twitters, but other formats as well. A billion of them from Earth. The rest from the Universe at large. She says that every one they've read so far-- _every_   one--expresses sympathy, love, support. For Jean, of course--but also for you. You _are_   loved, Maria. That surely must be some consolation."

"It is, Hank. A little." She smiled. "Not too much, though." And at that, Hank McCoy broke down in tears yet again.

"Hey--none of that, now," she said as tears rolled down her own cheeks. "Remember--no more tears? For God's sake, McCoy, you just said it!"

They laughed and cried some more, made love yet again, and slept together for a time. But even in Maria's dreams, time was speeding along a highway, and nothing could brake it.


	68. The Unbroken Circle

Chapter Sixty-eight

* * *

Jean Summers slowly walked along the mountain path. She pulled the cape closer around her as she went, noticing the Moon rising this spring evening. As always, she watched the Moon intently, old memories percolating through her mind. It got cold here in Wundagore, even in spring, and the cold was cutting right into her bones. Was this what getting that absurd thing, "old", was like? The thought made her shiver even more, and she found that she was pleased that such human things--feeling the cold, and contemplating age--could still come naturally to her.

A wooden footbridge over a chasm blocked her path. A small cottage appeared just before the bridge, on the right. Jean knocked on the door, as the wind howled and the sound of it mixed with--what--in the background? Wolves? Could it be? She laughed. _"The children of the night--what music they make..._ " The door opened, but instead of, "enter freely, and of your own will", the old man simply said: "Phoenix. You honor me with your presence."

"Jason," Jean said, entering the cottage. There was a fire, and coffee, and she sat down in front of the first and partook of the latter. The old man sat down across from her, wearing an old white cloak over a very old suit. Jason Wyngarde reminded Jean irresistibly of Gandalf, somehow. Maybe because they had both attained wisdom, of a sort.

"She is much the same, Phoenix," Wyngarde said with exaggerated respect. Jean sighed to herself. She had made many attempts over the years to get him to relax his deference, to bring him into her circle of friendship, of love. But although she knew he wanted this desperately, he still refused to accept what she freely offered. It was his penance for his role in the original appearance of Dark Phoenix--even now, 44 years later. The fact that he was a changed man, that everything Jean read in his words, attitude, psyche, showed him to be a changed man--one who had come through suffering to wisdom--made no difference. She almost felt like giving up the effort sometimes. Then she'd know better. She smiled warmly at him now.

"Has she any idea that I am present, Jason?"

He shook his head. "I don't believe so. Of course, I cannot see all the way into her mind. But the illusions I provide her with do enable us to share much. Your recent mental exchange has excited her. She feels that she is in your thoughts. Which, of course, is the case."

"Yes," Jean said with a sigh. "Yes, Jason, it certainly is. But tell me--her reactions to your stimuli show no changes?"

He shrugged. "None, Phoenix, as far as I can tell. I do my best to gauge her mental state, and provide proper environments for her. This generally works--for a time. Then she breaks free, and I must start all over again. And of course, she often simply kicks over all traces of my work and just does as she damned well wants. Those are the dangerous times--when she fights hard against the Quarantine. Naturally, she doesn't get anywhere. _You_ see to that. But those times are...trying. And there are times--rare, but welcome--when she is almost totally lucid, and aware of her plight and of what is happening in the world. At those times I am not needed. But they come infrequently. And I must confess, they come at rarer and rarer intervals."

Jean nodded, unhappily. After M Day, Wanda had wandered the earth, almost oblivious to everything until picked up by Victor von Doom. Then-- Jean laughed to herself. _Then,_ indeed. For many years after that Wanda had been happy, productive, a member of the Avengers for the most part and finally reconciled with the Vision. And then--

No matter. Wanda, though, never believed that she wasn't responsible for the fate of the Vision. Despite what anyone told her. No matter even what _Jean_ told her. She had slipped into manic-depression, and then into paranoid schizophrenia, from which she had never been able to escape. Her reality-warping powers became dangerous again--finally, too dangerous for her to be allowed to remain at large. Jean was forced to create the Quarantine Zone, with Wanda remaining here at Wundagore, the place she felt most at home.

"And tonight, Jason?" Jean asked the old man. "What is her mood tonight?"

Wyngarde frowned uneasily. "I believe that she is _relatively_   lucid tonight," he said. "But it is a very fragile lucidity. A shock--such as seeing _you-_ -would upset it immediately, unless I miss my guess."

Jean nodded. "I understand, Jason. Well, thank you. Now it is up to me." She rose, and he went with her to the door.

"You are going to approach her tonight, then?"

"Oh, yes." She listened to the wind, to the--wolves?--and smiled wanly. "It is one of my duties, Jason. And I can't put it off any longer."

He saw the logic of this. "Yes, Phoenix. Yes, I see that. Good luck to you."

"Thank you, Jason." And he shut the door, and Jean sighed to herself. Once she crossed the bridge-- Well. _Let's do this._ And she put one foot out after the other, and reached the bridge, and slowly started to cross. The first step--the second--and there was no change, no apparent difference in the landscape. By the third step, the bridge seemed subtly different, buttresses appearing and the wooden planks she walked on getting more and more ornate and detailed. The fourth step, the fifth--and the bridge became positively Oriental in its splendor, and soon it had a covering over it, and beautiful birds Jean had never seen before flew around and over and through the bridge, and she laughed and greeted them by name, and they stopped and looked at her and sang their songs in her honor, and she bowed to them and they bowed to her. And she kept walking, and the bridge kept changing, and finally as she reached the far side the bridge was a gorgeous golden blaze of color, with a walkway of diamonds and rubies, and a gentle, warm breeze buffeted Jean as she faced the mountains. She walked up a path that took her towards Wundagore Mountain, and ahead--about a mile away--was a house. It was not an ancient house, being almost Modernist in design, but it fitted in with the landscape very well. As she walked towards it, small changes in the landscape met with her gaze every step. But the dramatic shifts of the bridge weren't present anymore, and Jean was grateful for that. Step after step, and as she approached the house the changes got more and more ominous. Trees came close to the path, trees that almost seemed to have teeth and hostile eyes. Wolves--very definitely wolves--wandered to and fro, about a hundred yards to her right and left, just close enough for her to see them but not close enough to be an imminent danger--that is, if "danger" had any meaning for Jean Grey Summers in this spot. Which it did not.

The house got closer and closer, and Jean finally walked just up to its front door without any adventures. Just as she was about to knock, a voice came from an open front window.

"Who's that knock-ing on my do- _or?_ " the voice sang out. "Who's that knock-ing on my do- _or?_ Could it be-- _you,_ Jason? Or even the Vision? Or even Pietro? Or--God forbid--even Daddy? Who, who, who could it be?" And a moment later the front door came open with a rush, and Jean saw a dilapidated old woman--the same age as Jean herself, but she looked much older--heavy-set, with dingy gray hair, wearing a shapeless red dress. She looked at Jean, at first in shock and then in fascination.

" _You!_   You, you, you... Oh my God, I'm honored! I've been gifted by the Presence!" And Wanda started to primp her hair, pull and adjust her dress. "Oh, my! The Presence has come! Just as I always knew you would! Enter my home, please, enter!" And she opened her arms wide, and Jean with a sigh walked past her. The interior of the house was a mess, totally filthy and rundown. Cobwebs, tumbled books, clothes, furniture. A vague urine smell. Wanda ran into her living room eagerly, throwing things off a leather chair, tossing them into a corner pell-mell with no rhyme or reason.

"Sit down, please, Jean!" She stopped dead, put her hand over her mouth. "Oh! Have I put my foot in my mouth? I should call you 'Phoenix', shouldn't I?"

Jean smiled and sat down. " 'Jean' will do just fine, Wanda." Wanda nodded happily and threw some junk off a small wooden chair and put it across from Jean. She sat there and looked at Jean with an intense fascination that Jean was determined wouldn't faze her.

"Have you come to tell me that you're replacing Maria--that _cow_ \--as your best friend?" Wanda said hopefully. "And finally seeing just who your _real_   friends are, Jean?"

Jean laughed lightly. "I regard both you _and_   Maria as my friends, Wanda."

Wanda frowned slightly. "If you were my friend, Jean, you wouldn't keep me cooped up in this place. You'd let me run free. Let me help you! We used to have many adventures together, didn't we, Jean?"

Jean smiled encouragingly. "Yes, Wanda. Many adventures. Those were good days."

Wanda smiled nostalgically. "Oh, yes! Although of course, when the Vision left--" She shuddered slightly. "When he left-- Jean-do you know where the Vision is? I mean, if _you_   don't know, who does?"

Jean shut her eyes. Tears almost came to them, thinking of the Vision. _No. Not now._ She opened her eyes and, smiling slightly, said: "No, Wanda. I'm afraid the Vision is out of my own vision."

Wanda laughed like a delighted child. "The Vision--out of _your_   vision! Oh, Jean, I do like that!" A sly expression came over her face. "Well, then, Jean--what _are_   you here for?"

Well. This was where it got dicey. "Wanda--" Jean said carefully. "I need your help. Would you like to help me?"

Wanda's face lit up. "I knew it! I knew it! I _knew_ it! Knew you'd come to me some day, asking for help!" A look of ecstasy came over the ravaged old face. "That's why I've had to keep in practice, of course. That silly Quarantine, Jean--I mean, really. What did you expect me to do, anyway? Erase all the mutants in the world?" And Wanda laughed like a naughty child telling a joke she knew would embarrass the grown-ups. "Oops! Guess that's not very funny, is it, Jean?"

"Not really, Wanda."

Wanda shrugged. "Well, I'm not really used to telling jokes, Jean. Or anything else. Being held prisoner as I am--" And that sly look came over her face again. Jean sighed to herself. Best get down to business.

"Wanda--would you like to leave the Mountain? At least for a little while?"

Wanda's ancient face lit up, and she clapped her hands together in ecstasy. "Oh, I _knew_ it! A vacation! Yes, Jean, oh yes!"

"Good, Wanda. Very good. I was hoping you'd say that."

"Oh, Jean, this will be fun! Just like the good old days!" Then Wanda frowned. "When were you planning on taking me, anyway?"

"Right now, Wanda, if that's all right with you."

Wanda started to cry. "Now? Right _now?_   Oh, Jean--I don't know what to say."

Jea smiled. " 'Yes' would be more than sufficient, Wanda."

Wanda clapped her hands again. "Oh, yes, Jean, oh yes!" Then she frowned slightly. "But I suppose _you'll_   be keeping an eye on me?"

"Well, Wanda, I'm afraid that's one of the conditions of your coming with me. You know that you can be--well, unpredictable."

Wanda giggled. " _I'd_   say, I can be _naughty,_ Jean. Very naughty indeed. Oh, _I_   know that." She smiled. "And just where are we taking our vacation, Jean? Are we going to New York, Salem Center, the Mansion? Will I see Pietro, Daddy? Even the Vision?"

Jean shut her eyes in pain. Remembering what Wanda had been...and seeing her as she was now... There were limits on what even _she_   could do. And that was always something worth remembering. "No, Wanda. No, we're leaving Earth entirely."

Wanda's eyes got very large. "Leaving Earth! Oh, my! Where are we going, Jean?"

Jean licked her lips. "We're going to the M'Kraan Crystal, Wanda."

Wanda sat there, looking as if Jean had punched her in the gut. Then Wanda stood up, and walked to a dirty window, looked out. When she looked back, Jean was stunned to see that her gaze was entirely lucid, and indeed had the intelligence of the Wanda of old.

"The Crystal? Why do you want to take me _there,_ Jean?"

"Because a situation has developed that only _you_ can deal with, Wanda."

The old woman nodded, and sat down again. "My God. I'd better hear what this is all about, Jean."

So, taking advantage of Wanda's lucid interval, Jean told her, briefly, everything that had happened lately--how Jean's mental interview with Wanda had triggered her memories of what really happened inside the Crystal, the true nature of Maria, and the necessity for Maria's return to the year 1964. Wanda listened raptly.

"Oh, my," she said softly when Jean was done. "Oh, God. We are in a mess, aren't we, Jean?"

"Yes, Wanda," Jean said with a smile. "One helluva mess."

Wanda considered. "All right, Jean. I see some of what you're getting at--" She seemed to look at something over some far horizon only she could make out. "But if what you tell me is true--you have to send Maria back to _all_ the timelines that contain the X-Men? Is that it?"

"You put it perfectly, Wanda."

"Yes. Ye-es. I see the need for that--" Wanda suddenly looked startled. "Oh, my! What a goose I am! We have to save time itself, don't we? Is it acting up, Jean?"

Jean laughed. "Very much so, Wanda. Yes, that's just the right way to put it. Time is acting up."

"But it's in 1964 this time, isn't it?" Wanda giggled. "This _time._ I made a joke!"

Jean shrugged. "You'll excuse me if I don't find it very amusing, Wanda."

Wanda shook her head. "No, Jean. No, it really isn't, is it?" She concentrated. "But 1964. Four years _before_ D'Ken did his silly little thing with the Crystal in _our_   reality, the Primal."

"Yes, Wanda. Four years before."

"Now why would _that_   be--" Wanda looked up at Jean. "Oh my. Da'ath. Maria."

"Yes, Wanda," Jean said sadly. "Of course. That's why I have to send her back. That's why I have to send _her_ back. And why you have to help."

Wanda started to cry. "I'll help, of course. But the Crystal is a scary place. You'll have to guide me, make sure I do the right thing."

"I'll be there, Wanda."

"Good." Wanda looked at the floor. "I'm sorry for the bad things I've said about Maria over the years. I never really meant them."

"She knows, Wanda. She knows."

"Good." Wanda stood up. "All right then, Jean. I'll help you. You know I mean it, don't you?"

Jean stood up as well. "Of course I know it, Wanda."

Wanda smiled. "Good. Then I'm ready to go. Let's fix time together, Jean--you, me, and Maria. Fix what you did in creating her. Make the circle be unbroken."

Jean started. That was the exact phrase _she_   had used, concerning all this! The circle. The snake with the tail in its mouth. The Worm Ouroboros. The figure eight symbol of infinity. In the end is my beginning. The music goes round and round, and it comes out here--

 _N_ o _matter._ "All right then, Wanda. You're ready?"

"Oh, yes! Ready and willing!"

"Very well." And the two old women left the house, and started walking back to the bridge--and the real world.

* * *

"Maria--you have to go back into the past in order to make history possible."

Maria woke up, Hank still snoring noisily next to her. She got out of bed, put her robe around her and walked to the window of the house in the Berkshires. It was dawn, and they had to return to the Mansion today. Their last day here. And she still didn't believe it. She hadn't slept very much, but that didn't matter. She wasn't tired, felt clear-eyed and clear-headed. This was her last full day in 2012. The last day! Tomorrow--

_Tomorrow, I go back to adjust all the realities. And complete the circle._

The overwhelming loneliness overtook her again. It had to be _her._ Jean was certain, and so was Hank, and Essex, and Charles, and even Victor, when they were presented with the evidence. _Me. Maria Gianelli. The anomaly. The X-Man who never really existed._

It was simple, really. Jean created her--Maria--Da'ath--within the Crystal in 1968. And sent her, to begin her existence, to 1964. And she lived until now--2012. And all the time--

\--All the time, she existed at "right angles" to the rest of the Universe--to use Jean's phrase. In the timelines, but not _of_ them. And that fact shadowed everything since her appearance. While time went in one direction, she somehow went in another. Even though she lived day-by-day with the rest of the world, somehow she wasn't temporally _there._ As Victor explained it, she was rather like a living examplar of the square root of negative one--there, real in one sense; indeed, vital in some respects. But not "real", in other ways. Phoenix had brought her into being within the Crystal, in order to fulfill her need. And Da'ath _had_   complemented Tiphareth. Maria _had_   fulfilled Jean, been there, saved her, destroyed her, done what fate made it inevitable that she do. But all that time--

\--That _time_ \--

\--She was also acquiring temporal "potential", which--as the part of the Universe that existed at "right angles" to the rest--was building up. And it was necessary that she be "excised". To return to the world of her creation, and use her temporal "potential" to do what Phoenix had ultimately had in store for her--

\-- _To prepare the way for Phoenix to enter the Crystal._ Maria had to go back--to _all_   the time-lines, at once--to a time right before June 8, 1964. To be there when she was "born". To protect Jean, and Maria, and the X-Men from the predators of the era, yes--that, too, was part of her task. But she had four years in which to "utilize" her temporal potential, to bring into alignment Jean--and the X-Men--and the Crystal--their entire world, their entire gestalt-- _with their own history._ The history of the Primal Timeline, that is. Without that, nothing would exist. The Emperor D'Ken would have destroyed everything in 1968--without Phoenix to thwart him. And for Phoenix to exist and be ready--for Jean to be mature enough to fulfill her destiny--Maria would have to go back and prepare the way. So that Jean would save the Universe--and create Maria. So that Maria could one day go back and prepare the way, so Jean could be ready to create Maria, so Maria could go back...

...The snake with the tail in its mouth...

...The Worm Ouroboros...

...The figure eight symbol of infinity...

...And it comes out here...

Maria shook her head. She didn't entirely understand it, nor entirely understand just what Jean wanted her to _do_ in the period 1964-68. Jean shook her head and said, you'll _know_   what to do. Maria said, but Jean-- _I_   wasn't there in 1968, when you entered the Crystal. I was in space, with the Rim Alliance. Ororo, Kurt, Peter, Logan, Scott, Sean-- _they_   were the ones with you in the Crystal. And Jean said, that isn't the point. _You_   were the one whom I created within the Crystal. Yes, Maria said, but wasn't that the young Maria, the one whom you created to do just what she _did_ \--be your Da'ath, your beloved friend, greatest paladin, destroyer and savior? Yes, said Jean, but _that_ wouldn't have happened if _you-_ -the old Maria--hadn't gone back to make _your_   preparations. And Maria threw her hands up, and Hank explained to her that the physics made sense, and Jean started to cry and said, for God's sake, Maria, do you think I'd _do_   this unless it was necessary?

_But Jean--what am I supposed to_ _do_ _?_

And Jean Grey had looked her right in the eye and said--Maria, when the time comes, you'll know. You'll _have_   to know, because you _did_   it.

And Maria still didn't understand, because she said: Very well! But Jean--I'm returning to _all_   the realities. That means that I'm going to be present in an almost infinite number of universes. I won't make the same decisions in all of them. Some will be good ones, and some bad. Won't they cancel each other out?

And Victor had shaken his wise old head, and said: No, Maria. Remember Asimov's Psycho-history? If the number of human beings is large enough, you can predict their future actions, even though each individual has free will within the larger matrix. It's the same. There'll be an almost infinite number of you. All making their own decisions. But the aggregate will blend together, towards the goal that Phoenix is sending you back for. After all, that's the way that it _has_ to happen. And remember too--within the Crystal, all realities are one. All alternate Universes are reflections of Phoenix's will. And since _you_   were created within the Crystal, that means that _you_   are aligned to all the alternates. Another reason why it has to be _you._

And Maria had bowed her head, and accepted her fate.

"Maria?" She turned, and Hank was there with her. "What are you thinking?"

"I'm thinking that I love you." And she kissed him. And he kissed her again.

"Maria--do you want to make love one last time? In this house?"

"I do, my husband." And they kissed again.

* * *

Jean Summers was very quiet. This moment could not be made easy. They were out in the front yard of the Mansion. The crowds were being kept at a respectful distance, at Phoenix's request. There were no TV cameras, no press, and thank God for that. This was a moment for them, for the X-Men. They were assembled here. Jean looked at them--Scott. Warren. Bobby. Alex. Lorna. Ororo. Kurt. Peter. Logan. Sean. Charles. Eric. Rachel. Katherine. Emma. And many others. Maria had had private farewells with all of them.

And Hank. And young Jean. She had made her farewells to _them,_ too. They stood there--Hank, stoic, face sad but holding it in. Jean, sobbing openly, but standing erect, proud.

And Maria herself. Standing slightly apart from Jean and Wanda--"at right angles", Jean thought for a moment. Face taut, but neutral. She noticed Jean watching her, and stuck out her tongue. With tears coming to her eyes. Nearby stood a hale old woman, with short iron-gray hair. Lila Cheney. Their transport to the world of the Crystal. They would be alone there. The Shi'ar had offered the use of the Imperial Guard as a Guard of Honor, but Jean had refused. This would be better with only the minimum of people necessary. She sighed. It was time.

There was a large collection of modern apparatus, computers, medicine, money from 1964, various other things Maria might need or want. At Jean's signal, a force-field was placed around the stuff. She turned to Hank.

"So these things will be sent exactly to the warehouse on East 23rd Street precisely at eight a.m, April 1, 1964? For Maria to use when she gets back? In all the realities?"

Hank nodded. "Yes, Phoenix. If you do your job. And Wanda does hers. When Maria is sent to all the alternates, _this_ stuff will all go to each of the alternates, as well. In 1964, and the other chronologies that radiate out from 1964." He smiled. "I believe our synchronization measures are adequate. It should suffice."

"Very well." She looked at Lila--a smile of complicity on her face--at Wanda--excited, as if she was going on a real vacation--and Maria. Maria suddenly smiled like the Maria of old, the one who knew exactly what Jean Grey was up to as a teenager making mischief, and wanted only to know how she could help as an accomplice.

"Let's do it!" Maria cried, and the entire assemblage cheered. Jean nodded at Lila.

The four women vanished--

* * *

Wanda blinked. She could hardly keep her pleasure to herself. Phoenix needed her! Just like the old days! It had been so long-- Well, no use crying over spilled milk. But Wanda couldn't help but wish that their mutual enemies hadn't kept she and Jean apart for so long. But that didn't matter, she was here, she was being helpful, she'd do whatever it took.

Jean had a grim look on her face as she looked around the desolate, twilit landscape they stood in. Wanda shivered slightly, even though it wasn't cold. Maria, meanwhile, looked around her, fascinated. That's right--she had never been here before, had she? But hadn't Jean told Wanda that Maria had been born here, somehow? It was hard for Wanda to remember details. All these long years--so many people--she sighed, and shook her head. No matter. She looked down at her fat, ungainly body. She was old. And she looked, felt old. She looked older than Daddy. How, she briefly wondered, had it been for _him_   to see her, back at Xavier's?

Lila Cheney spoke. "I take it I'm not to be included in the Crystal boarding party?"

Jean smiled. "I'm afraid not, Lila. Just be ready here for transport home."

Lila saluted with mock solemnity. "Aye aye, Madame Captain." She looked at Maria. "You take care, Big Girl."

Maria grinned. "You keep rocking, you hear?"

Lila laughed. "Always." The other three women approached the Crystal, and soon enough Wanda saw its immensity, its sheer perfection. A shudder ran through her. _She_   was to do something here! Jean had explained it patiently to her, but Wanda didn't always appreciate details these days. But finally, she repeated back to Phoenix just what it was that was expected of her. It was all so confusing... But, she said to herself, with a lifting of her chin, Jean was counting on her. That was all that mattered. Even if it was for the benefit of that cow, Maria Gianelli. No. No, that was unworthy of her. Maria was making a great sacrifice, wasn't she? And Jean was sad because of it. No, Wanda would have to act with the solemnity the occasion demanded. She'd try her best.

They approached a sort of platform over the entrance to the Crystal. Jahf was there, watching them with a sad expression on his face.

"Well, Phoenix, they told me at Imperial Center you would be returning here. To the scene of your greatest triumph." Wanda looked at the little man--or robot--or whatever he was. He seemed resigned to whatever happened, and suddenly flashed an impish grin at Jean.

"At least you're not going to make it as tough as you did last time," she said with a smile in return.

"I think it safe to say that the Guardians of the M'Kraan Crystal have learned their lesson," Jahf said with a sudden formality that Wanda found impressive. _She_ could once talk like that, act like that, and people didn't laugh at her when she did. What had happened to that woman, Wanda wondered for an instant? Had she gotten lost? Could she find her again? Maybe the events of today would help her find that person. Wanda missed her so much sometimes--

Jahf looked at Maria, then Wanda. "Well, I don't suppose there's much to say, is there?" he said, addressing Maria. The latter shrugged.

"Guess not."

"OK, Phoenix. You're ready?"

Jean laughed. "I am."

"Then go!" And Jean waved her arms, and Wanda found herself--Somewhere Else. Somewhere where the horizons stretched to infinity, yet at the same time gave Wanda a feeling of claustrophobia. She found it difficult suddenly to breathe.

"This is the Crystal?" she cried. "Jean--Maria--I don't like it here!"

"I can't say I'm all that delighted myself," Maria said. She turned to Jean. "OK, Red. What do we do now?" And stopped dead. Wanda heard her gasp, and she turned to her. And cried out in her turn.

Phoenix was gone!

* * *

Jean Summers was in a void. She had not intended to come here; she didn't know where she was. It was no longer the Crystal. Or if it was, it was a place within it that she had never seen before. There seemed to be clouds, billows, of brown dust, dust that seemed to stretch to infinity. It might have been the Universe in its early days, before the primordial soup had hardened into galaxies, stars, nebulae. Jean shut her eyes and listened. No--she sensed nothing. How had she gotten here, anyway? And how did she get back--to resume her errand? For _that_   was all that mattered.

The unity between Phoenix and Jean became absolute in that instant, and "Jean's" identity blurred. She sensed the realm she was in, felt it give to eternity. Then she relaxed. No, this was not strange to her at all, as she had first thought. This was all-too-familiar. Jean came back to herself, as the dusty void started to shift.

The dust seemed to transform itself into a figure, a giant shape that extended to infinity in every direction but still seemed paradoxically to be localized near Jean. A figure that slowly assumed the figuration of a giant bird. Within her mind, Jean felt a loud, raucous laughter. No, _this_ wasn't anything alien or foreign at all.

 _Well, if it isn't my old pal again!_ And a face emerged that took up half the heavens, with eyes as bright as stars but somehow also as dull as death zeroing in on her. _It's been so long since one of our little chats. What are you trying to do--_ _avoid_ _me?_   And the laughter kept on expanding, to the point where it seemed to shake the rafters of heaven, an obscene laughter that was the only noise that could possibly exist.

Jean watched the spectacle with an impassive face. _Don't go to any trouble on_ _my_ _account,_ she replied to the entity that faced her. The laughter got even louder, if possible.

 _Oh, Jeannie! The All-American Goddess! How I've_ _missed_ _you!_ And the image of a gigantic kiss came to Jean's mind, with huge, slobbering lips and endless teeth, all of them saw-edged, coming together to cut her, the whole Universe, to pieces. She ignored the image.

_I have a task to perform. You are hindering me. Release me, and depart. I shall not ask again._

A chortle, a voice that now sounded like oil baked in a marshmallow sauce, so smooth, so filled with a primal evil, that Jean almost felt uncomfortable hearing it. Almost.

_Oh, no! No, my darling! We have_ _so_ _much to talk about!_

_We have nothing to discuss. I have nothing to fear from you anymore. You are an irrelevancy. This is your last warning. You know me. You should. You know I mean what I say._

The landscape changed, and the Universe appeared to Jean's sight--galaxies, galactic clusters, super clusters--all the Universe, the billions of light years, the trillions of galaxies. _Your birthright,_ the figure said in its gloating voice. _You, Jeannie. What you have sworn to_ _protect_ _._ Another chortle of primeval evil. _Well, dearie, let's see what the Universe becomes in the end. What is_ _must_ _become. And nothing--not even you--can change its destiny._ The galaxies and the clusters started to revolve, moving slowly but inexorably. How long Jean watched she could never be sure. Time was irrelevant where she was. And then slowly but surely the galaxies changed. Turned into something organic, something rotten, something nauseating. The figure chortled again, and now Jean _was_   uncomfortable.

 _Shit,_ the figure said, and indeed, excrement came from the "face", filling the space where Jean existed in the void _._ _The entire Universe, turning into a giant vat of shit. If all the sextillions of sentient beings in the Universe all flushed the toilet at once._ _That_ _is the fate of everything, all creation, my darling Jeannie. And you know it._ The galaxies slowly turned from giving off light to glowing a dull brown, and Jean sensed the entire Universe turning into excrement, a thing so foul that it transcended her ridiculous human sensory organs. The scent, the _feel,_ couldn't be washed from her nostrils, her mind, her soul. The figure laughed and laughed.

_The great Phoenix--watching the fate of its creation._ _This_ _is the true Primal Reality, Jeannie dearest. Sort of makes you wonder what it was all about, eh? Whether or not it was all worth it?_

More laughter, as the galaxies turned completely to giant turds, billions of them, trillions. _The Great Cosmic Asshole. Look upon my works, ye mighty, and despair!_ And the laughter came and came and came.

Jean watched the vision, and for the briefest second she felt its dismal power. Then _she_   started to laugh, and her laughter soon was so much greater than her opponent's that it filled the Universe, rang across the Cosmos like a giant bell, whose peals washed the excrement away from the galaxies, working like water on the filth. Soon the Universe was as it had been, and the figure facing her was silent. Silent, Jean knew--and cowed. This thought made her laugh once more, and the figure fled.

Jean called after it. _Yes! Yes, the Universe is full of shit. Yes!_   And her laughter came and came, cleansing the Universe more with every peal. _But that isn't what it_ _is_! _And you, my old shadow, cannot make it so, either. The Universe is far beyond_ _your_ _ability to understand. Now never approach me again!_ And Jean Grey suddenly found herself back in the Crystal, next to Maria and Wanda.

"Hey, Red--where did _you_   get to?" Maria said, a crooked smile on her face.

"Oh, it doesn't matter. Nowhere important. How long have I been gone?"

"Just a few seconds," Wanda said, looking at Jean with intense interest.

"A few seconds," Jean said, laughing. "Amazing what can happen in a few seconds. Never mind. Let's do this."

* * *

Maria watched as Jean and Wanda prepared themselves. Wanda went over exactly what she had to do with Jean once more, then Jean turned to Maria.

"Maria--I shall take your hand soon. In that instant, Wanda will open the realities with her probability-altering power. I shall take _her_ hand, and the three of us will open a nexus. Wanda shall then throw you into the nexus. When that happens, you shall be transferred--a clumsy word, but the only one that fits--to all the alternate realities at the same instant, at the same time--April 1, 1964. A couple of months before your 'birthday'. Do you understand?"

Maria nodded. "Yes, Phoenix."

"Good. Even though you shall be split into an infinite number of possibilities, from your point of view there shall be only one continuous consciousness that will go with you to every alternate world. They will all be equally valid, equally 'real'. Do you understand?"

Maria sighed. "Yes, Jean, I understand."

"Good." Maria saw the strain Jean was under, the effort she was making to stay focused. "You shall return to 1964. There, you shall do what you can to protect me--you--all the X-Men. All the world. And you shall learn, in time, what you need to do. You will have four years. When the time comes for me to enter this Crystal for the first time, I must be ready. I _shall_ be ready, for I shall be Phoenix. And you shall have made it possible for me to create you. And the circle shall be unbroken."

"The circle shall be unbroken," Maria answered. Wanda followed this with an uncertain look on her face.

"The circle shall be unbroken," she replied, and Jean and Maria smiled at each other.

"Jean--I'm ready. Let's do this."

"Yes." She looked into Maria's eyes. "I love you, Maria."

"I love you, Jean." And Jean came over and took Maria's hand, and Maria felt every ounce of love that the two women had ever shared, and she started crying, and Jean started crying, and Maria saw her take Wanda's hand, and the Crystal shimmered, and Maria saw giant fissures appear within it, and then she saw what appeared to be a tunnel, and she drifted into the tunnel, and she wasn't holding Jean's hand any more, and she called Jean's name again and again, and she heard Jean's voice one last time: "Maria!"...and everything went black...

...And then she was inside a storage room, with her machines and her computers and everything else. It was as silent as a tomb inside the room. She looked around her. Yes. Solid, real, tactile. She opened the door of the storage area, and she blinked as she looked at East 23rd street on April 1, 1964. The cars, the clothing, the air itself, were all different. People stared at her as they passed. Well--she was sixty-five, she was six feet tall, and she was dressed in the clothes of 2012. She hadn't bothered trying to dress up in period. To hell with it.

Maria Gianelli McCoy took a deep breath. Then another one. And then she started to cry. Up and up her tears welled, and she didn't try to stop them. Passers-by looked at her with sympathy, and one girl tried to ask what the matter was, but Maria waved her away. After awhile, she mastered herself.

_Jeannie! My daughter! Bless you. May you be well. Perhaps we shall meet again. That is not for me to say. Only God--and perhaps Jean Grey--can answer that question._

She went back into the storage space. That was enough of _that._ She had work to do.


	69. New Kids on the Block

Chapter Sixty-nine

* * *

"All hail the conquerors of Paste-Pot Pete!"

There was a roar of laughter from the whole team to Warren's greeting of Hank and Maria as they returned to the Mansion--the last ones to arrive home. Hank smiled modestly--Maria thought that they had a lot to be modest about in that little fiasco--but she was able to put a bemused expression on her face and say innocently to Hank:

"Isn't jealousy a terrible thing, Henry? There _we_   are, saving society from a deadly menace, and this is the thanks we get for it."

"Paste-Pot Pete," Jean said with a purr in her voice. "Were you _too_   scared, Maria?"

Maria nodded. "Terribly," she said. "I thought I would never see my beloved teammates again."

The Professor interrupted them with a mental summons. _Greetings, Maria and Henry. I'm delighted that you're home. Would you two please report to my study?_   Hank and Maria did so, and when they got there they found the Professor with two young mutants. One was tall, lean, blond, very intense. The other was a charming girl with green hair. The Professor introduced them as Alex Summers and Lorna Dane. They shook hands with Hank, then Maria, and the latter hugged Lorna and kissed her on the cheek.

"You have no idea how nice it is to have another girl in our little sorority," Maria said with a smile. Lorna flushed slightly.

"Thanks. Jean said the same thing. It's _such_   an honor to meet you, Miss Gianelli! I mean, people talk about you all the time--"

Maria looked behind her. "Excuse me, Professor--do you know who this 'Miss Gianelli' is that Lorna is referring to? I can't quite see her, myself--" They all laughed, and Lorna blushed.

"I'm sorry--Maria. But it just seems so strange, to be here with all you--well, legends. Meeting Warren, meeting Jean--it just seems so strange. I don't feel that I belong."

Maria felt a rush of sheer pleasure. It was official-- _she_ wasn't the rookie anymore! No, she was a veteran now. Well, she was going to be as good to these kids as the others had been to _her._

She turned to Alex. "How about _you,_ Alex? Are you intimidated by all these legendary people you find yourselves in the midst of?"

Alex Summers laughed. "Hell, no. Let _you_   guys be intimidated by _me._ " They all laughed again, and the Professor smiled.

"Let's hope you feel this way in a few weeks, Alexander. After your initial encounters with the Danger Room."

"I'm ready, sir!"

Maria felt good about these two. Lorna was smart, rather reserved--and no wonder! She had heard some of what happened. She remembered how she had felt about the Thinker. This had been a hundred times worse. She felt a strong desire to meet this Mesmero. And as for Alex, she rather admired his spirit. She felt that he could back it up.

"I'm sorry, Maria--" Lorna approached her, put her hand out towards her face. "If I'm out of bounds, please tell me--but I'd love to feel the texture of your skin. Is that all right?"

Maria bowed to Lorna. "Miss Dane--I'm at your disposal." So Lorna carefully, slowly, rubbed her fingers over Maria's face, and finally nodded.

"Maria--you're _so_ beautiful. I never realized until now. The media presents you as a sort of walking piece of sandpaper...well, _you_   know what I mean." Maria just laughed. "Yet that isn't what you're like at all. You're _lovely._ Your face--people have called it a doll's face, not quite finished. But it fits you. And those eyes make up for everything."

Maria shut her eyes. She realized that Lorna--this child of green hair and victim of terrible crimes--was speaking directly, from the heart, and that she meant every word. Maria smiled at her.

"Lorna--thanks. I mean it. I hope you know that we--all of us--will do whatever it takes to keep you from harm. And as I've said often--when it comes to those I love, I don't believe in half-measures."

Lorna flushed again. "Thank you, Maria. Those words mean a lot to me." Alex stirred then.

"Hey--maybe _I_   could give that face a little caressing myself...? You know, just to see what all the fuss is about--?" And Maria couldn't help it; the sheer earnestness of his tone, with the put-on buried so deep that you almost--but not quite--couldn't catch it, pushed her button, and she started to laugh, that deep belly-laugh that emptied her out when she was done. The others joined in, and Hank, when he was finished, bowed with deep respect to Alex.

"I think, Mr Summers the Junior, that we shall forego _that_   particular pleasure for the nonce. If you will excuse me for being so blunt."

Alex shrugged. "Whatever you say, Hank. Might I add that you are a very lucky guy?"

"You may, and the thought is appreciated," Hank said. He smiled at Lorna. "So are you."

 _Already?_ Maria thought to herself, watching Lorna and Alex as they stood together. _That was quick. Well, Alex isn't like Scott._ _He_ _doesn't let the grass grow under his feet. It'll be interesting to see how else they differ._

* * *

Wanda returned to the Brotherhood's Brooklyn quarters, sweating a little from her walk. As usual, no one recognized her. She smiled to herself. She supposed that she had never been enough of a "celebrity" to be particularly noticed by anybody. How different from the X-Men! Whenever Jean Grey or Maria Gianelli went out in public, they were mobbed. People stared, asked for autographs, children congregated around them--especially Maria--snapped pictures of them--especially Jean--and generally made all sorts of fuss. Wanda sighed. There were times when she wondered how _that_   would feel--dressing in glamorous clothes, being out in the world. Being _famous._ These were very un-Scandian thoughts. Perhaps America was making an impression on her--more of one than she had realized.

"Did you have a nice walk?" Magneto asked as he saw her come in, and she nodded. _This_   was a sign of change--one of them leaving, going out, and Magneto taking no notice. He was so busy these days--working on his mutant identification system, on so many other projects. _Working._ Peacefully. No more ranting about conquest, about human ants, about the manifest destiny of the mutants. She wondered if he felt different in private than he always had, but whatever, he, too, had changed.

They all had. Pietro was a quiet young man who spent most of his time reading, studying, and--something that startled Wanda--writing. Pietro had always wanted to be a poet, and Magneto was encouraging this desire. He had read some to Wanda, and while she did not completely understand it she recognized a certain wistfulness, a loneliness, about it. Pietro wrote in Scandian, so she was his only audience for the moment. Scandian was a good language for solitude, she had decided. It had strong affinities to Italian, being a small, backwater Romance language originally developed on the Mediterranean. But centuries of forced isolation in the Balkans had also given it a Germanic tinge, and that perhaps had led to a melancholy strain that Italian didn't have. Scandia had a strange history, and its language reflected this.

Then there was Wyngarde. Jason Wyngarde spent a great deal of his time these days away from headquarters. He had taken to wearing more up-to-date clothes, donning the Inverness jacket less and less frequently. Wanda was never entirely sure just what he was up to, but she was astonished one day to find a souvenir program of a New York Mets game he had brought back with him. Baseball! Would wonders never cease! In any event, he was now genuinely respectful to Wanda, and his smile when he was pleased with something was a real smile, nothing cruel about it.

As for the Toad, he was more silent than ever, and spent most of his time in the shadows. He was frankly puzzled by the state of affairs in the Brotherhood, though he was sensible enough not to remonstrate with Magneto about it. He seemed almost to feel that the lack of brutal physical punishment was something to be regretted.

Magneto, Wanda realized as she returned from her walk, was watching television. There was something on the screen about the X-Men... She went into the living room, and there was a story about two new recruits to the team. One of them was the younger brother of Cyclops, it seemed, and his powers were very similar to his older sibling's. The other one was a girl with green hair, and she--

Wanda started. This girl had magnetic powers! She looked at Magneto, to see how _he_   was taking this. But his face was impassive, and he sat there watching the TV screen with great concentration.

"Have you ever heard of this girl before, Magneto?" Wanda finally asked. He laughed out loud--a laugh of genuine wonder, free of malice or hate. And that was another remarkable thing--the emergence of that laugh, from this man.

"Oh, yes," he said. "Indeed." He turned to Wanda, a slightly puzzled look on his face. Then he laughed again.

"Wanda--this girl is my daughter."

Wanda stood there, as if she had been turned to stone. "Your _daughter?_ " she finally was able to bring herself to say.

"Indeed." And he smiled. "Does that surprise you, Wanda?"

"To be honest, Magneto, it flabbergasts me," she said. "I never dreamed you had children."

"It is a long story. It doesn't really matter. But yes, the girl known as 'Lorna Dane' is my daughter, right enough. I have wondered for some time where she has been. Recently, I learned." He sighed. "It was not a pretty story, I fear, Wanda. Lorna has been much harmed along the way. I have dealt with the one responsible. I have dealt with him _very_   decisively."

Wanda nodded. "If someone harmed _my_   child, Magneto, I should do likewise."

He smiled. "Would you, Wanda? Yes, I believe you would." He turned to the TV set again. "Lorna is with Charles now. That suits me for the moment. She needs healing, and _he_   can do that. Someday, the issue shall arise between us as to where she truly belongs. I shall inform her of her heritage. And she shall make the decision."

Wanda went over and--to the surprise of both of them--took Magneto's hand and squeezed it. "That is a very good thing for you to say, Magneto. The man whom I used to know would never have allowed her--anyone--freedom of action outside _his_   will."

He shrugged. "Perhaps, Wanda. Perhaps I have learned something. Perhaps Charles has, too." And Wanda went to her room, and thought more about her life and the strange chance that had brought her to America, and all that had happened since. And she wondered then, just for a moment, if she would ever bear children.

* * *

The evening of Maria's return, Jean went to her friend's room to talk. It had been a long time, or so it seemed, since they had done so. Maria hugged her when she saw her, and Jean, on an irresistible impulse, hugged Maria back even harder. Seeing this girl again, whom she loved, was a tonic for her.

"Maria--let's make a pact."

"A pact? Sealed with our blood?"

"If you want," Jean said, laughing. "Maria--let's swear _never_   to take each other for granted."

Maria suddenly looked serious. "Jean--why are you asking this? Why now?"

Jean shrugged. "No reason."

"Oh? You sure? You seem--different, somehow."

Jean laughed. "Who, me?" And she leaned over and kissed Maria again. "Maria--I'm in love. I love life. I'm hopeful for the future. I love _you._ I want you to know that. I shall never take you for granted. Let's seal it."

Maria rose and picked up Jean in her arms. "You said it, kiddo!" She tossed Jean up in the air. "No taking _anything_ for granted for the two of us!"

Jean let herself down with her TK. "Hear, hear!" she said. She then did prick her thumb slightly, and a drop of blood came out. "Come on, now. Let's do this, girl. Let's see a dab of what you laughingly call your blood."

Maria pursed her lips. "If you insist." She winced slightly, and pricked her thumb. A drop of her own blood came out. The two girls joined their thumbs, and their blood mingled together.

"To us," Maria said. "Forever. No taking for granted. Ever."

"Not _ever,_ " Jean said solemnly. Maria nodded.

"Jean--" she said slowly.

"Yes, Maria?"

" 'Forever'. That's a spooky word, when you think about it. _Forever._ Does _anything_ last 'forever', do you think? Really?"

"Yes," Jean said very decisively. Maria raised her brows.

"You say that with great conviction, Miss Grey."

"I do, Miss Gianelli. Love. Love is forever. Love is infinite."

Maria smiled. "Jean--I rather think I believe you." And the two girls laughed.

"Do you like Lorna?" Maria asked.

"Very much," Jean replied. "Do you?"

"Absolutely. She's going to fit in just fine."

"I think so, too." And at that moment, there was a tentative knock on the door, and Lorna Dane peered in.

"Is it OK if I come in?" she asked shyly, and Maria and Jean were on their feet, escorting Lorna into the room, hugging her, and generally acting as though even asking them the question was an insult to them. Lorna smiled, and sat down on the edge of the bed.

"I just wanted to say, well, I wanted to say thanks for the welcome I've gotten here--"

Maria and Jean wouldn't let her speak another word. They assured Lorna--by word and gesture--that they wouldn't tolerate another syllable of "thanks". Lorna finally laughed.

"It's just--well, it's so different, that's all. From where I was--" And Lorna Dane suddenly broke down into a fit of weeping, and Maria held her in her arms, crying along with her, reassuring her, stroking her hair, and generally being supportive and kind, with Jean matching her friend every step of the way.

"Lorna," Jean finally said, "you are _never_ going to be hurt again. By _anybody._ "

"And you can take that to the bank," Maria said seriously. "I know the Professor has told you that. And Scott has told you that. But girl--this is _us_ telling you that. We, Jean Grey and Maria Gianelli, the X-Women. And you can take _that_   to goddam Fort Knox."

Lorna smiled, and the smile graduated to a laugh. "Well, what can I say to a guarantee like _that?_ " She hugged Maria, then Jean. "It sounds pretty good to me."

"It _is_ pretty good," Jean said. "Now--let's get down to serious business. Finding a way to drive our men-folk as crazy as possible."

Maria grinned evilly. "Hear, hear! _I'm_   in." She turned to Lorna. "How about you, Miss Green Follicles of 1965?"

Lorna smiled wickedly--and, Maria thought, _she_   had a natural wickedness to her smile that Jean had only attained by long practice. "Is there any doubt? Ladies--I'm in."

* * *

As planets went, Lila Cheney rather liked J'bray. Small--only three thousand miles in diameter--with the weak gravity that went with it. She only weighed sixty pounds here, which made walking on this world a pleasure. She couldn't keep from taking long, effortless leaps merely for the pleasure of doing so--which got her odd looks and muttered comments from passersby. But she didn't care, and that fact of not caring felt good.

The natives of this world were a tolerant and cosmopolitan bunch. J'bray had no particular industries or natural resources that anyone else wanted. But it was mostly a water world, with only a few islands dotting the surface, none larger than Lila's native Great Britain. Therefore, a small population, and a large expanse of ocean. This fact had made the J'bray natives rich, since tourists from all over the Galaxy came here to sail and fish--and the fish of this world were exceptional, for their quantity and their taste. Lila, having grown up on fish and chips, loved them, and often came to this world. She had introduced the natives--tall, willowy people with flowing blue hair and red skins--to chips, and these had proven so popular that Lila had organized a small trading company. She smuggled J'bray fish back home to Earth, for those few discriminating palates who had the desire--and the money--to partake of them; and she smuggled chips into J'bray. Everyone was happy, and she turned a profit. The only problem was the curiosity of the Earth folk who wondered about the origin of the exceptionally tasty fish she provided them with. Not particularly wanting to raise questions she didn't wish to answer by telling the truth, she just smiled enigmatically and hinted at a source on Earth, usually in some Indian Ocean backwater. And everyone profited--especially, of course, her.

She was listening to some home-grown J'bray music on a laser disc recording in her small tourist cabin by the bay of the world's largest city, which would have been a provincial county town in Britain. She rather liked the music--syncopated, but it had a strong behind-the-beat quality that reminded her of Jamaican rhythms. But it also had the sheer formal perfection of Bach--or maybe Louis Armstrong, she thought with a laugh. A paradox, but in this case, a fruitful one. It was no doubt selfish of her not to introduce laser disc recordings to Earth, but she enjoyed feeling that _she_ was the only human being--or mutant; whatever--listening to music of this perfect quality. At the proper time, she'd make sure Earth got this technology, all right. And make a fortune out of it in the bargain.

 _Earth_. She didn't visit her home world very often these days, except for brief fish-smuggling excursions, and sometimes idly wondered why. The best guess she could come up with was that the whole business of mutants was coming to a boil, becoming an "issue". And ever since she decided that she and Magnus weren't really in sync regarding their ambitions, she wanted to forget that she was that thing the world called a "mutant". And thanks to her power, she could. Being able to jaunt to _anywhere_   made her the ultimate Cosmopolitan Galactic Traveler. To mix with people who had never heard of Earth, and cared nothing about mutants. And, of course, to mix with people who made some damned good music. Music she was determined to bring to the rest of the Universe, someday--combined with rock and roll, and all in her own inimitable style.

And at that moment, a small band she wore around her wrist buzzed. She jumped, and glared at it. What the bugger hell did _he_   want? She wore the band as a token of respect, and because he could make life difficult for her if he chose, though as far as she knew she had never given him reason to do so. Maybe ignoring his summons would be that reason. Well, she thought with a sigh, only one way to find out.

She shut her eyes and jaunted, and immediately found herself within the chamber containing the Supreme Intelligence of the Kree. Some attendants gasped when they saw her, and one of them began to call the guards. But at that moment, the screen that dominated the room came to life, and the Supreme Intelligence's face glared down at them.

"That will not be necessary," he said to the attendants, and the guards when they appeared. "Lila here is my guest, come at my invitation. Please leave, all of you. The situation is under control." Puzzled, the others did as the Supremor bade, and Lila found herself alone with the face on the screen.

"Supremor," she said cautiously. "You called. I'm here."

"Indeed," the Supremor answered, his voice neutral. "You were prompt. Thank you, Lila."

She frowned. "Well, that isn't hard for me." She paused. "Something's in the wind, isn't it, Supremor? I can tell."

The face on the screen chuckled. "Oh, very good, Lila, very good! I _do_ trust your instincts."

"I hope I've given you reason to."

"Indeed you have, my child. And it's all been very exhilarating, I assure you! Having a genuine Earthwoman as a confidant. The ironies there--well, you can't imagine them! And an Earth _mutant,_ to boot!"

Lila flinched mentally. "Why is _that_   an issue at all, Supremor?"

"...Hmm. I notice some doubt in your voice, your general manner. Is your being a mutant a sore spot, by chance, my dear Lila?"

"Not really," she said. "But it's one of the hassles I've exiled myself from Earth to be free of. It's becoming a Big Deal there, and I have other ambitions in life than to be a Big Deal--at least, about _that_."

Another chuckle. "Very good. Very good indeed. But I fear, dear girl, that in the end, this particular 'Big Deal' might be difficult to avoid." He paused. "You must be getting weary of waiting for me to come to the point. Let me therefore proceed to do so. Have you ever heard of the M'Kraan Crystal?"

Lila shrugged, unimpressed. "Old traveler's tales. Space-happy pilots going on after too much to drink. Some religious cranks. Never gave it much thought, to be honest."

"No, I don't suppose you would." The Supremor's face, voice, got very serious indeed. "Then let me tell you a few facts, dear girl." He spoke for about fifteen minutes, of the World With No Name, of the M'Kraan Crystal, of the mysterious "blinks" in time. And, finally, of the Phoenix Force choosing for itself a mortal Avatar--an Earthwoman. An Earth _mutant_. When he was finished, Lila Cheney was very quiet for some time.

"Well, bugger hell," she finally said softly, almost to herself.

"I quite agree, my child, if that phrase means what I _think_ it does."

"Earth," Lila said, still in that soft voice. " _Earth._ What does it all mean, Supremor?"

"It means," he said solemnly, "something which I am reluctant to tell you. But I must." And he spoke then of the evolutionary dead-end which the Kree and the Skrulls found themselves in, and of the human race that was, ultimately, the evolutionary superiors of both of them. Lila listened for awhile, seemingly beyond shock.

"Christ," she finally said. "I see what you mean, Supremor. And I see why we mutants matter. We _must_ , in some way. I even see why you've bothered to take the time to cultivate _me_."

"Excellent, Lila! Very good indeed! If I can have an Earth mutant as a confidant--even to some extent as a tool--then that gives me an advantage in this Great Game we are all engaged in."

Lila nodded, as if the logic of this were evident. "And this girl--this Jean Grey... An X-Man. _She's_   the Avatar?"

"She is. And that tells me an important fact. I had thought this ultimate evolutionary superiority of the human race was something far off--thousands, even millions of years in the future. But I was wrong. If you put these facts together--the Avatar, and the threat to the Crystal--then the ascendance of humanity is something that is happening _now_. In our time."

"Assuming that we all don't bloody well go down the great Cosmic Toilet first," Lila said with a smile, and the Supremor chuckled again.

"As you say, Lila. But given all I've told you, and the sheer magnitude of the threat to all existence, would you be willing to collaborate with me for the duration of the crisis?"

Lila nodded slowly. "I don't see why not. Everything else is irrelevant for now, Supremor. And I can tell that _you_   have a role to play in all this."

"Excellent, child. I do indeed have a role, and I am playing it. I have activated pawns of my own. The details do not concern you. But you-- _you_   can go where no one else can go, infiltrate where you will, and escape at will. There are no doors barred to you, no secrets you cannot ferret out. Work with me in this, and when it's all over--assuming we're still here to discuss it-- _then_   we can sort the rest of it out. Particularly the question of humanity's role in the Cosmos, and how that affects us--the Kree, and everything else."

Lila smiled. "I can't say that matters much to me. But then, given what you've told me...well, I can't say it _doesn't_   matter anymore, either. Things are too bolloxed up, Supremor. First things first. OK--I'm your girl."

"Excellent," the Supremor said, still with that slight chuckle to his voice. "Then we have a deal?"

"We do," Lila said. And they spoke for awhile longer, concerning certain matters.


	70. Homecoming: Earth

Chapter Seventy

* * *

Charles Xavier took his wheelchair to the front door to receive his visitor personally. The man known as the Changeling smiled a wan greeting to him, and soon the two were in Charles' study. His visitor took a seat with relief, seemingly delighted to relax a little.

"Charles--you have _no_   idea how happy I am to be out of that madhouse. Even for a little while."

Charles nodded in sympathy. "I can imagine, Paul. How is Raven holding up?"

The Changeling shook his head. "Not well, my friend, not well. She has a conscience, though she hides it well. The murder of Emma Frost has done something to her. She hates Frost, the memory of her, she hates Fisk, and she hates herself most of all. I believe that she is headed for a crisis. She cannot hold it all together much longer."

Charles looked sad. "That is a shame, Paul. Raven is no stranger to violence or ruthless decisions, God knows. But this--" He shrugged. "Well, I cannot save her. How about _you?_ Is there any point to your continuing your masquerade? I am not prepared to compromise your safety. I already begin to feel that you have been in an exposed position for too long. Is it time for you to pull out?"

For an instant, the Changeling smiled at Charles' choice of words, then bit his tongue. "Actually, Charles, I feel that I should remain--at least, as long as Raven does. I don't feel that I can simply leave her in the lurch."

"That is very brave of you, Paul. I would have expected no less of you."

"Oh, quite," the Changeling said with a languid wave of his hand. "Noble little me, oh my! As of now, no one suspects. Raven continues to report to Fisk--as I of course do to you. Still nothing about the Sentinels. Trask is playing all this _very_   close to his chest. He barely consults 'Graydon' anymore."

"And how is Raven--and Trask--dealing with the death of Ned Buckman?"

The Changeling sighed wearily. "Raven barely twitched a muscle in 'her' face when I told her of the unfortunate events at the Hellfire Club. She has only a minimal curiosity as to just who will emerge at the top of the heap there. Sebastian Shaw, alas, isn't prepared for a full-blown _coup_   to take power. The rest of the Council of the Chosen wouldn't have him, though he _has_ procured a place within the Inner Circle. Donald Pierce, of course, has vanished from the face of the earth--and if he knows what's _good_ for him, vanished is what he shall remain."

Charles smiled slightly. "I should imagine so. And what of Trask? Has _he_   had any reaction to the fall of Buckman?"

The Changeling shrugged. "Trask is upset only insofar as a source of his funding has been cut off. And that his and Buckman's rather silly--if I may say so--plot against young Warren misfired. And even that upset is tempered by the fact that he is so close to success. Raven has heard enough to assure her on _that_   score, anyway. Trask is on go. The countdown may begin at any moment."

"So," Charles said. "It begins. We approach the endgame."

"Indeed," the Changeling said. "I fear that is the case, Charles."

Charles looked his friend right in the face. "And _you,_ Paul? You're _sure_ you don't want to get out while the going is good? What further purpose does _Raven_   serve, if it comes to it?"

"Oh, dear Raven serves the purpose of whatever Mr Wilson Fisk demands of her. And for now, he still wants her _there._ " The Changeling paused. "My dear Charles--if you really want to get my esteemed friend Raven--and my own humble self--out of danger, you really should...suggest...to Mr Fisk that he let her loose. If I make my meaning clear."

"Have the X-Men lean on him, you mean?"

The Changeling nodded. "That's _exactly_   what I mean, my dear Charles. Fisk, I fear, is a creature of--well, basic impulses, despite his occasional smooth veneer. He respects power. And _you,_ Charles, have more than he does."

Charles frowned. "I dislike the idea of having my X-Men act as virtual underworld enforcers, Paul."

"My dear Charles! What do you think you're _involved_   in, anyway? You _are_   dealing with gangsters--and worse. Fisk _is_   a reality. Trask _is_   a reality--all too much of one. This is no time to be protesting your virginity, Charles, or to be calling for the fainting couch."

Charles Xavier sighed wearily. "I know, Paul. I know all this too well... Perhaps I'll send Scott to talk to Fisk."

The Changeling shook his head. "No, no, Charles! Scott is a nice enough young man, and no doubt formidable in his way. But he isn't what's needed, believe me! You can't be _subtle_   with Wilson Fisk. What's needed is arrogance--somebody to rub his face in reality. And for _that,_ only one person will do."

Charles frowned. "You mean Maria?"

"I _absolutely_   mean Maria, my dear Charles! _She_   can teach Mr Fisk the facts of life if anybody can."

Charles shook his head slowly. "Perhaps you're right, Paul... Meanwhile, you aren't ready to leave right now?"

The Changeling shook his head. "I do believe that my honor is involved, Charles. Or something silly like that."

"Very well. But be ready to bolt like a rabbit, if I hear _anything_   that might indicate that you're in danger and send you the word."

"Oh, my! I shan't hesitate to scamper for the briar patch at the first syllable, my dear Charles." Soon Charles Xavier was alone again, and thinking hard about his options. None of them were good.

* * *

Alex Summers was doing push-ups in the gym. _One hundred twenty-six. One hundred twenty-seven. One hundred twenty--_ And he paused, because he realized there was a shadow over him. He looked up, and Scott was there, watching him with a bemused expression on his face.

"Just how long are you going to be doing this, Alex?" he asked genially, as Alex took a deep breath and rolled over, sitting on the floor and grabbing a towel.

"As long as it takes, Scott," he said, wiping his brow with the towel.

"Oh? Takes to do what?"

"To beat whatever the hell _your_   record is at push-ups," Alex said with a disarming smile. "What did you think?"

"Ah," Scott replied, sitting down next to Alex. "I wondered about that. Classic sibling rivalry, is that it?"

"I hoped you expected nothing else," Alex said, still smiling. "Because I don't want you to be surprised by _anything_   I do."

"Thanks for the warning," Scott said. Then in a serious tone of voice: "Alex? Have you been happy?"

Alex considered this. "Yeah, Scott. For the most part. Yeah."

"I'm glad. I'm glad you got out of the orphanage. I'm glad you had a real family life, at least for awhile. I'm glad that you never got mixed up--well, mixed up in..."

"Mutant politics?" Alex said, and Scott laughed.

"Yeah."

"Well, they bit me in the ass in the end, didn't they?"

Scott sighed. "I guess they did, Alex. I guess they did."

"Scott--?"

"Yes, Alex?"

"Are _you_ happy?"

Scott seemed to consider this. Alex found that he was genuinely interested in the answer to his question. "Alex--I'm _ecstatically_ happy."

Alex smiled, and his smile might have been the sun peeping out from behind the clouds. "I'm glad, Scott. Really glad."

"What's there not to be happy about, Alex?" Scott said, and his face relaxed into something rare for it--a huge, ear-to-ear grin that transformed him into someone Alex hardly recognized. "I'm fulfilling a role that needs to be done. I'm growing up, into a position of responsibility that will get more important every year. And of course--above all--" Scott paused, seeming almost hesitant to talk about it, even with his brother.

"Jean," Alex said simply. Scott merely nodded.

"Yes, indeed," Alex said. "...Scott?"

"Yes, Alex?"

"Are you two sleeping together?"

Scott didn't answer for some time. Finally: "Yes." It was a simple, declarative word, but Alex heard all the sounds of the world in it.

"Good. I'm glad. The two of you deserve to love and be loved like that."

"How about--" Scott asked tentatively, and Alex shook his head.

"No, Scott. Not yet. Lorna needs--well, she needs to be _healed._ And that's far from happening, despite the start the Professor has made. I just want to be here for her, and let _her_   decide when--if--she wants me, and on what terms. But whatever happens, I want her to know that I'm here for her, unconditionally and forever."

Scott considered this. "Alex--that's something we share. An absolute commitment to those whom we love. It seems to run in the family."

At that moment, both of them had a mental communication from the Professor. _Scott, Alex--could you both come to my study, please?_

They were there in a minute, and the Professor bade them come in. There was someone else with him--a tall, handsome man in his forties, with a shock of dark hair and a heavy moustache. He was dressed casually, and moved with a military bearing.

Alex looked carefully at the man, and Scott, he noticed, did as well. They looked at the Professor. "Sir?" Scott asked softly, still looking at the man. Something was happening in Alex's mind he couldn't quite fathom, but his pulse started beating harder and harder.

The Professor smiled warmly at the two young men. "Scott, Alex--I should like to introduce you--or, rather, _reintroduce_   you--to Major Christopher Summers. Your father."

* * *

The reaction of his sons was as satisfying as Christopher had always hoped it would be. They did a double-take, their mouths opened in astonishment, they gaped at him, at Xavier, and finally they asked him what he was doing here, what had happened to him, where their mother was, all the natural questions. His heart broke for a moment, remembering Kate. But too much time had passed for it to master him. Today was what mattered. And how they would all reach tomorrow.

Eventually, his two sons accepted the simple, unbelievable fact of his identity, and the even more unbelievable fact of what he had been doing since they last saw him. "What the hell," Scott said bemusedly. "We're _X-Men._ We believe in the impossible." The others laughed, and Christopher found he was enjoying himself. That he _liked_   the boys--young men, really--his sons had become. Xavier was beaming, and Christopher could sense his pleasure at the reunion. Which made his introducing a serious note all the more regrettable, but still, there it was.

"Professor Xavier--Scott--Alex--it's been a long time since I was on Earth. And I feel guilty for not returning before. It was certainly within my power. It has been for years now. I hope you two don't resent me for that."

Alex shook his head. "Sir-- _I_   don't have any resentments. If what you've told us is true--well, _you've_   had a full plate out there."

Scott looked uncertain. But then, Corsair realized, his life had been harder than Alex's was. "I don't know exactly what I think right now, Major Summers. I'm afraid I'm in a bit of shock. It all seems--well, unreal. You here, your story, what you've been up to--it seems like something from a sci-fi movie."

Christopher laughed. "Of course it does, Scott! It seems like that to _me,_ and I'm the one who's been living it! But as you yourself just indicated--how is it _more_ like a sci-fi film than the X-Men themselves?"

Scott nodded. "I guess you're right, sir." He turned to the Professor. "Sir? You had no idea of any of this?"

Charles Xavier laughed, raised his hands. "None whatever, Scott! I was totally dumbfounded when he walked in here an hour ago and introduced himself to me. I had no notion of where your father was. But after the Stranger, nothing seems impossible."

Christopher was shocked. "The Stranger? You know of _him_?"

Charles looked at him with great interest. "Indeed, Major Summers. I take it that _you_   do, as well?"

Corsair nodded. "Oh, yes. We've had--dealings. Well, what do you know?" He laughed. "But Professor, Scott, Alex--there's a reason why I've returned to Earth at this time. Something vital has happened, is happening." And he related the story that Princess Lilandra had told him and his fellow Starjammers, and of their journey to the world of the M'Kraan Crystal.

"So: the Universe, and its time scheme, is on the brink of falling apart," he finished with a sigh. "Lilandra is trying to rally opinion within the Shi'ar Empire. And I felt the need to come home. It seemed _right._ If for no other reason than if the Universe _is_   coming to an end, I wanted to see my family before that happened." He paused. "But I think there's something deeper, as well. I don't know what I mean, but I've felt for some time that something _here_ \--on Earth--is the key to all this business. And don't ask me what I mean, because I couldn't say what it is to save my life."

There was dead silence from the others. "Sir?" Scott finally said. "Is this something _we_ can help with? Or is it out of our weight class?"

"I don't know, Scott," the Professor said. "Major--I trust you'll permit me to introduce you to Doctor Reed Richards, the one man on Earth who might be able to figure out a course of action--if indeed, there is a plausible course?"

Christopher shrugged. "Whatever you think best, Professor. Perhaps _he_ is that key I mentioned." He paused, and smiled slightly. "I shall be returning to space soon, with the Starjammers. They are up there in orbit, waiting patiently for this nostalgic voyage home to end so we can get back to the business of helping save the downtrodden and making a slight profit in the bargain. But I had to return home, see my sons, and play that hunch--whatever it may turn out to be."

Xavier smiled. "No doubt," he said. "What a fascinating life you've led! Despite all I have seen, all I've experienced--I wouldn't have thought it possible. Major--it's a privilege to know you!"

* * *

"Maria--Scott's _father_ has come to pay him a visit! Alex's, too! Can you believe it!"

Maria, who had been taking a quick cat nap after a lengthy Danger Room session, said groggily: "Huh? Whazzat, Jean? Scott's-- _father,_ did you say?" And as suddenly as that, she was wide awake. "Jean--I didn't dream what you just told me, did I?"

Jean laughed, and shook Maria vigorously. "Oh, get _up,_ you freak! I'm damned if I'm letting you sleep through _this!_ Everyone else has met him, except you and me. I'm delegated to get you and get our asses down there, _pronto._ "

Maria needed no more promptng. She ran briefly into the bathroom, and was out in a short time, dressed and ready. "God--what does my hair look like, Jean?"

"Exactly like it always looks."

"I'm doomed." But the two girls went down the stairs and joined the others in the living room. Maria saw a tall, well-built man in early middle-age talking with Hank. Laughter came easily to his eyes and face, she saw. The others--Scott, Alex, Lorna, Warren, Bobby--were standing around, jovial and talkative. The man turned from Hank and looked at she and Jean as they entered. And she saw him take a deep breath, and knew why--his first sight of Jean, naturally. _She_ hardly existed in that moment. She tried to keep a wry grin off her face, and failed.

"Major Christopher Summers," the Professor said, "I'd like to introduce you to two of my students, both of whom I take exceptional pride in--Jean Grey, and Maria Gianelli."

"I'm Jean Grey," Jean said, going over to him. "I'm honored to meet Scott's father."

Major Summers seemed to have trouble collecting his wits. "My word," he finally was able to say. "So _you're_ the young lady whom my Scott has fallen in love with? I certainly raised the luckiest young man in the Universe."

Jean winked. " _Luck_ had nuthin' to do with it," she said in a dead-perfect imitation of Mae West. The whole room exploded into laughter, and Jean blushed. "I'm sorry, Major. Just being silly. It's really a pleasure to know you. I didn't even know about Alex until just a little while ago, and now this!" She turned to Scott. "I'm so happy for you, darling!"

Maria smiled to herself. That word--"darling"--which conveyed so much, and was spoken so naturally that the others scarcely noticed. But Scott certainly noticed, because his smile matching hers was so naked Maria felt like a Peeping Tom observing it. She stepped forward.

"Hi, Major. I'm Maria Gianelli, and I'm delighted to meet you, too."

Major Summers kissed first Jean's hand, then Maria's. "Ladies--it's an honor to meet both of you," he said. He turned to Maria. "Hi. I've heard about _you_   since returning to Earth."

"Don't believe everything you read, sir."

"I never believe _anything_ I read," he said, and Maria laughed. Major Summers stayed for a couple of hours, answering questions about his adventurous life. Maria felt entranced, hearing about adventures out in the Galaxy. But this wasn't something from an SF novel--this was _real._ A real Universe of aliens, and Galactic Empires, and slavery and freedom and love and death and sacrifice and wonder and beauty and despair and hate--in other words, life. Scott and Alex were amazed, and delighted, by the appearance of their father, and the others, while happy for the brothers, seemed a bit bemused by it all.

That evening Jean appeared in Maria's room. "Well, _that_ was a helluva day," she said cheerfully.

"I'll say," Maria said. "How is Scott holding up?"

"Very well, Miss Gianelli," Jean answered. "Very well indeed. A big piece of his soul is back with him where there used to be an empty space. He's worried about something--they all are--something to do with a crystal and time, and an Empire. They're going to talk to Reed Richards about it, and I'm sure _he'll_   know what to do. Meanwhile, Scott has a family again!" Jean leaned over to Maria and whispered confidentially into her ear: "I'm hoping that this will give him ideas. About extending his family one more generation."

Maria gave her friend a playful swat. "Jean Grey-- _you_   are incorrigible! You have a one-track mind."

"You better believe it." And the girls spoke together for awhile, each aware of the happiness this day had brought to people they loved, and taking joy in the fact.


	71. Alternate Realities

Chapter Seventy-one

* * *

_Am I dead?_

Maria Gianelli McCoy asked herself this question, not for the first time. There would be no break in her consciousness, Jean had told her. It would simply be scattered into an infinite number of "Marias", all of which would have continuity of memory with the woman she had been in the Primal World.

_Simply._

Maria laughed as she walked in the garden of her home in the Berkshires. The Mandevilla plant was climbing high on its pole, the azaleas were thriving, the white roses clung to the side of the house. Lucy, her very curious kitten--gray-striped, part-Siamese, which explained her inability to ever shut up--was wandering around her feet, looking for mice, which fortunately she was unable to find. The poor thing wouldn't have the slightest notion of what to do with one if she _did_   catch it. And, failing in her efforts, she howled to Maria about it. But then, she howled about everything. Any self-respecting mouse wouldn't get within a half-mile of this place, Lucy's voice carried so. And her purr was mightier than a Mack truck. She and Maria already understood each other, and had a working arrangement--Lucy ruled the household with an iron hand, and Maria waited on her hand and foot like any other willing slave. This suited both of them.

_Am I dead?_

This thought haunted her. She had been transformed into an _infinite_ number of incarnations. Which one was the "real" Maria McCoy? Were any? Had that woman died in the Crystal, when Wanda and Jean had cast her into an infinite number of shadows of herself?

Another thought followed, a darker one. _Was I ever alive?_ Did the girl known as "Maria Gianelli" ever _really_   exist at all? She was created by Phoenix within the Crystal, and appeared in all realities that contained the Phoenix. And she got old, and was sent back within the Crystal...back and around, back and around...was there anything _real_   in all of that? Was there any there there, to paraphrase Gertrude Stein?

Maria took a deep breath and looked around at the mountains stretching to her east, west, and north. She finally nodded. Yes. Yes, she _did_   exist. She was here. She was _here._ She looked at her hand, made a fist, felt the reality of her bones and skin and muscle. _I am here._ Whatever her origin, whatever her ultimate fate, whatever number of Maria Gianellis there were, _she_ was here, this day, this moment.

After all, when one came right down to it: Yes, there were an infinite number of Maria Gianellis. But so, too, there were an infinite number of Hank McCoys, an infinite number of Charles Xaviers, an infinite number of Jean Greys...and so on and so on. She had merely had her nose rubbed in this fact, so to speak. And she had originated in the Primal Timeline. The one that cast its shadow everywhere else.

Maria smiled to herself. If she wasn't alive--real--then she had gone through a helluva lot of pain and blood and discomfort to give birth to young Jeannie for no purpose. _That_   wasn't "real"? Whatever the fate of Jeannie--and that was an area where her thought simply wouldn't permit her to probe deeply--she _had_   given birth. She had seen the little ball of fur that was her daughter, held her in her arms, presented her to an awe-struck Hank, suckled her at her breast. Despite all the odds against such a thing ever happening. That sustained her, as it always did. _I have known miracles before. Many of them, in fact. Perhaps there is one more ahead of me. I must hope so, in any case._

Paradoxes. There were so many in her life, in her current predicament. This timeline she found herself in, for instance. It was very bizarre. Here we were in July of 1965, well over a year since she returned to this era. And Maria-- _this_   world's Maria--and the X-Men were only past the Juggernaut's attack, and had not yet encountered the Sentinels. In _her_   world--the world of the Primal Timeline--the X-Men had already defeated Factor Three, and were at this moment experiencing their short-lived "break-up". Soon they would encounter Lorna and Mesmero and the Magneto robot. But here--! Lorna and Alex were already part of the team, Mesmero-- She paused. _He_ had gotten the fate he so richly deserved. That, too, was a difference. And Eric, Wanda and the Brotherhood-- It was all changed. Why was time taking so much slower to pass, in _this_   world? Was it simply a eccentricity of this timeline, or was there some deeper reason?

And one more question. She had mused earlier on how Jean had created her in "all realities that contained the Phoenix". Yet, there were timelines that contained Jean Grey that did _not_   contain the Phoenix. What did _that_ signify? This was a concept that had disturbed Maria--all of them--the more they pondered it. Some--particularly Victor--thought that Phoenix _was_   present in all of them, that of necessity it _had_ to be, but for whatever reason it chose to be "hidden". This got them all into near-theological wrangling. Hank thought that idea was too loose and open-ended to be empirically valid. Jean herself, Maria felt, had definite thoughts about it, but had never committed herself. And Maria strongly suspected that that was because Jean's own ideas were so bizarre--even for her; even for _them-_ -that nobody would believe them.

She slowly walked towards the house, Lucy following, bellowing her outrage at the terrible neglect Maria was inflicting upon her by not devoting every single second of her existence to pampering her. Maria opened the door, and Lucy followed, scurrying in and heading towards the kitchen and the kitty munchies. Maria sighed. The cat _couldn't_   be hungry again... And laughed, as she heard the distant sounds of munchies being chewed and ingested. Lucy was _always_ hungry. Maria looked at some of the pictures in the hall. Many were from "her" reality, the Primal Timeline. Others came from other timelines. They had often studied those timelines. Here was the original team graduating in 1964, which was how she remembered it. But here, too, were photos from 1969, 1977, 1984, 1990, 1997, 2002--all of Scott, Jean, Warren, Bobby and Hank in their original X-Men costumes, wearing caps and holding diplomas. And, indeed, similar poses from 2009 , 2014, 2020, 2027, 2038... And there were even photos of the scene from 1893, 1909, 1927, 1946, 1955. Whether or not there were greater or lesser degrees to infinity, there were greater and lesser degrees of meta-probability to certain events. And these had been studied in great detail, thanks to Victor von Doom and the late Reed Richards. ("Late"? Maria laughed. He was on his honeymoon at this moment!) The probability clusters regarding--say--the year Jean Grey joined the X-Men had been studied and analyzed. This event had occurred in 1963 in the Primal Timeline. And, in fact, the clusters coalescing around this event began to peak in that year of 1963, and stayed at their peak until about 1990, when they slowly declined. It had never, as far as they could determine, occurred before 1869. And never after 2052.

Maria looked at one photograph--a faded one from the 19th century. Jean was there, in a sort of bloomer X-costume, with the others wearing what appeared to be early baseball uniforms with the letter "X" emblazoned on the front. The "graduation" picture from 1872. And even then--the earliest example known--Jean became Phoenix. And entered the Crystal, in 1875. That was such a strange Universe that it was studied mostly for its curiosity value. Yet it had its own drama, its own pain and tears and love. Its own miracles. And yes--even its own Maria Gianelli. She laughed, looking at the picture of she and Jean from 1880, in their bustles, carrying their parasols. Jean still Jean, lovely and striking. And Maria, looking astonishingly like the visage of the Statue of Liberty. Then there were the pictures from the 2030s and 2040s. No one much liked looking--or even thinking--about _them._

 _But all of them had Maria Gianellis--had variations of me_. _Phoenix originally sent "me" back to 1964, in the Crystal. But all time is the same there. The 1964 "I" was sent back to cast its shadows across the timelines to every alternate universe, whether it was 1875 or 2038. And each one got a version of "me". All of us equally valid. As it happened, I_ _did_ _end up in 1964. To this strange, anomalous timeline._

She walked into the machine room. _Why does this damned timeline move so_ _slowly_ _?_   she thought again. _It must mean something._ She went to the computers. Time to check up on what the CIA, the Pentagon, the FBI, the Soviets, were doing. Routine stuff that the computers of 2012 she had at her disposal made child's play. But if she knew the answer to her question, she would feel much better. About everything.

* * *

The Princess Lilandra paced in her cell. Twelve steps over. Twelve steps back. It was a fairly spacious cell, befitting her royal status. There had of course been no trial. She, after all, had committed no "crime", and any trial must become public, where she could tell the Empire what the hell was really going on. No, D'Ken kept her in "protective custody". For "her own good".

Twelve steps...turn...twelve steps...again and again. It was driving her mad. How much time did they have, anyway? Had there been any more "time slips"? She had been trying to notice, but nothing had happened that suggested one. Would she even know if it had?

She heard the door to the outer chamber zap open, and a visitor approached. Tall, distinguished-looking, a beautiful mane upon his top. Lilandra paused in her pacing and smiled.

"Well, Gladiator!" she said, bestowing on him a mock bow. "I _am_ honored."

The leader of the Imperial Guard did not look amused by her irony. "Princess--listen to me. You must _listen._ Are you prepared to do so?"

Lilandra nodded. "I am, Gladiator."

"Good." Gladiator came close to the energy-field that sealed her in her cell. "Princess--none of us feel that you have gone mad."

"Oh?" she said carefully. "And precisely who is 'us', old friend?"

He looked deeply unhappy. "A few of--well, people of influence. Admirals, counsellors, ambassadors, several members of the Imperial Guard. We wonder if D'Ken is--well, not taking his duties with the seriousness they deserve."

"You mean, you think he's as mad as a _birashay,_ " Lilandra said quietly. Gladiator flushed, then nodded.

"It is as you say, Princess. Since your return to Imperial Center and your arrest, he has done nothing but eat, drink, and whore. He seems not merely unconcerned about any possible threats, but positively antipathetic to even considering what you have told him. As if he can't even bring himself to consider the possibility that you are right. We do not understand this, do not understand why he simply had you arrested without even a hearing, without bringing your evidence before the proper experts. You are not some hapless rebel. You are--well, you. You have earned respect."

"Why, Gladiator!" Lilandra said almost archly. "I do believe you are blushing!"

He _was_   blushing, and for a moment didn't try to hide it. "Princess--you know of my feelings for you."

"I do, old friend," she said gently. "And they are appreciated, I assure you."

"Even if not reciprocated," he said wistfully. Lilandra shook her head.

"No, my friend. Please believe me--I _do_ love you. But I am not _in_ love with you. I know that the death of C'Maearra shattered you. I wish I could fill that void. I really do."

He nodded. "Thank you, Your Highness. But I must emphasize that my feelings for you are not at issue here, one way or another. What _is_   at issue is that the Emperor seems to be neglecting his duties. We feel that the time is coming when his attention must be--directed--at the evidence."

"A coup?" she asked him bluntly. Gladiator shrugged.

"If that is what it takes to force some action," he said. "The people around him laugh at all thought of honor, of duty, of responsibility. They poison him against you, keep pointing out how you went to the world of the Crystal without authorization--and in the company of _Corsair!_ Nothing could have been likelier to hit every insecurity and hatred D'Ken possesses." He paused.

"No doubt," Lilandra said. "Well, old friend--what are you here for? Is there anything I can do?"

"For now, Princess, I merely wish to impress the facts upon you. To prepare for any eventuality. The time for action might be coming sooner than any of us can imagine."

"Good," she said. "For Gladiator--I fear that time is getting short. Tragically short."

"I know," he said, marching out of the cell area. Lilandra thought for awhile, then began treading out her twelve paces again--and again--and again.

* * *

Lorna Dane sat in Charles Xavier's study, eyes shut. Charles felt nervous. This was a very delicate moment.

"You know what I am intending to do, Lorna?" he asked the girl.

"Yes, Professor."

He nodded. "Very well. Open your mind to me. Try not to be frightened. I am not Mesmero, and I am not going to harm you."

She paused for the briefest of instants. "Yes, sir." Charles looked intently at her, and slowly his thoughts wafted their way into hers. He felt the mental patterns of the young girl, sensed her memories, her loves, fears, hates, joys, desires... Suddenly he encountered a great wall within her mind, and he couldn't penetrate further.

 _Lorna?_ he said mentally.

_Yes, sir?_

_There is a mental barrier which I cannot penetrate. I must beg of you--despite how difficult it is, please try not to have barricades placed against me. If this process is to work, I must have access to your full mind._

_Yes, sir. But it's so hard..._

He could sense her trembling within, on the verge of emotional distress. He backed away immediately, but Lorna sensed him do this and he felt her repulson at her own repulsion, and her determination growing within her.

_No, sir. No. I agreed to this, and I won't let you down. I'm trying. I'm trying. Please, keep going._

Charles moved gingerly forward, and realized that the barrier was porous now, that he could breach it. With infinite care, he did so, finding an emotionally-scarred area beyond. The area where Lorna repressed her memories of the man who called himself Mesmero, kept them secret and buried so that she wouldn't ever have to confront them consciously.

_Oh my God._

Charles was overcome by a wave of sheer repulsion. He had been privy to many psychic revelations in his time, had seen deeply into both humans and mutants. He thought he knew everything there was to know about evil, about corruption. He remembered the Shadow King, Lucifer, Magneto, Sabertooth, many others. He thought there was nothing that could surprise him. He was wrong. The ordeal Lorna Dane suffered at the hands of Mesmero was unique in his experience. Here was terror, lust, cruelty, the exploitation of an innocent young child--Lorna had been but fifteen when it began--on an unimaginable scale. He had seen something similar to this in survivors of the death camps in Israel, when he and Eric had served there as counsellors. He remembered Gabby. But _this-_ -months, years of systematic evil directed at a young girl. The fact that Lorna was able to even consider having him examine this--indeed, the simple fact that she wasn't in a catatonic state as Gabby had been--was an amazing testament to the girl's strength of character.

But even as he realized all this, Lorna was beginning to panic. Some of her repressed memories were coming to her conscious mind, and Charles immediately pushed them back down under the threshold of her remembrance. Lorna immediately relaxed again, and he went forward. Before Mesmero--before, Lorna had been a normally happy young girl, with a foster family-- _foster family?_ \--yes, Charles sensed that. They had died, her hair had turned green, her mutation had manifested itself. Mastery of magnetism. Interesting. So similar to--

_No! It can't be!_

But there, in her earliest memories...there was no doubt about it. _Eric!_ He was everywhere, at one point in her earliest childhood. And the context-- There could be no doubt.

Eric Magnus Lehnsherr, better known as Magneto, was Lorna Dane's real father.

_My God. Does_ _he_ _know this?_

Charles was so startled that for an instant he lost control over the girl's mind, and she started to shake again. He immediately reasserted his control over her mind, but he was still reeling from the shock. Should he tell the girl? Tell Eric? What did this mean, anyway?'

Reluctantly, he brought his attention back to the issue at hand. Lorna's demons required his full attention, and he worked for the next hour in facing them, and helping her slowly to face them herself. The time passed slowly, as though he were swimming in molasses. When it was over, he removed all conscious knowledge of her memories of abuse, and woke her. Lorna blinked, and smiled, a brave smile of fortitude.

"Well, Professor?" she asked with an innocent smile. "What's the verdict?"

He smiled reassuringly at her. "I believe we made a good start, Lorna." And indeed, that was nothing less than the truth. Finding out the worst was always the first step. Lorna had amazing powers of healing--maybe more than any of the X-Men. He felt she would be all right, in time. And whatever his shock at his discovery, Lorna's well-being was the issue, not her paternity.

Lorna left soon after, emotionally upset but determined. Charles felt wave of pity, protectiveness, and pride that threatened for an instant to overwhelm him. Thank God for the boy Alex. Her bonding with him was already very strong. That, too, was a major factor in her healing.

He sighed. This had been an emotional day, for both of them. But it had been a fruitful one. And one that left him with a dilemma.

* * *

The individual who called himself "Walter Lawson" left Charles Xavier's study, and moved through the hall towards the front door. He heard the sound of a figure moving nearby, and turned to see Jean Grey coming from the back area of the Mansion. She saw him and smiled.

"Dr Lawson. It's good to see you."

"Likewise, Miss Grey." "Lawson" went out the front door, and walked towards his parked car waiting in Graymalkins Lane. He was struck--as he had been before--by how _ordinary_ Jean Grey seemed to his eyes. A pleasant young Earth woman. But he had seen nothing so far to indicate why _she_ should be so favored by the Phoenix Force.

He got into his car, and started driving back to Manhattan. It was a warm summer day, and he was in no hurry. Ronan was beginning to sweat a little about his lack of progress, but there was nothing Marr-Vell could see that would change matters. Well--that wasn't _his_   department, thank God. All he could do was what he could do.

Back in his apartment, he got out his uniwave transmitter and contacted Ronan the Accuser, still orbiting Sol in the asteroid belt. The face of his superior came on immediately.

"Well, Marr-vell?" he asked without preliminary. Captain Marr-Vell shrugged a little uneasily.

"Well, indeed, sir," he said. "I have found nothing so far. I have just returned from a talk with Xavier. He still believes me to be a member of a human secret society devoted to studying alien intervention in human affairs. I am quite certain he has no suspicions as of yet regarding my true identity. In that guise, I have been able to examine many of his records. They have shown nothing. One thing that I thought might prove enlightening is the existence of a very old and long-lived mutant called En Sabah Nur. Or, colloquially, Apocalypse. _He_   has been around for many thousands of years. But when push comes to shove, he does not seem relevant to our inquiries. He certainly is _not_ the Avatar of the Phoenix Force. However logical one might regard such a development, Phoenix has chosen differently."

"So we come down to it," the Accuser said grimly. "This girl, Jean Grey. What _of_ her, Marr-vell? You have met her, seen her, spoken with her. You _must_   have an idea as to why _she_ is so important."

Marr-vell bowed his head in a gesture of respect. "Accuser-0I do not. She is lovely. She is intelligent. She has great vitality. But I see no reason why the Force should choose _her._ "

Ronan looked angry and frustrated. "But there _must_   be _something!_ What of her lover, Corsair's son? Anything about _him?_ "

Marr-vell shook his head. "He is a worthy young man. They are _very_ much in love. But there is nothing here that would indicate anything of cosmic importance."

Ronan the Accuser cursed, openly and fluently, in the Hala tongue. Marr-Vell was astonished to hear him lose his composure so totally. "Very well, Marr-Vell! Keep trying. There must be _something!_ " And the link went black, and Marr-Vell was alone again. He thought hard. He was here, after all, because the Supremor felt he had resourcefulness. Yet little of that had been engendered by this mission as of yet. That must change. He must force some sort of action. Well, something would come to him. It always had before.

* * *

Charles Xavier leaned back in his wheelchair, with that odd sense of exultation he always had after Walter Lawson left him. The man had a charisma that couldn't be denied, and Charles felt full of life and vitality whenever he was here. They had exchanged data, and Charles had no qualms about showing him information from their files. He had gotten plenty from Lawson in return, especially about those fascinating beings called the "Inhumans". No, they weren't mutants0-not really. But Charles couldn't help but feel that the Inhumans and the mutants were somehow linked. There was much more to come in this area of study, he was certain of it.

A knock on his door, and Corsair appeared. His stay at the Mansion was almost over. He was determined to return to the stars, which were his home these days. Scott and Alex had begged him to stay awhile longer, but he had his own people, his own responsibilities. He had, though, sworn to stay in touch. And held out the promise--not just to Scott and Alex, but to all of the X-Men--of a visit to the Galaxy someday. The thought had made all their mouths water, and Charles didn't blame them. Since he was included in the invitation, he had to admit that his own mouth felt positively moist upon occasion.

"Yes, Christopher?" he said, as Major Summers entered his study and sat down. Christopher Summers was frowning hard.

"Charles--that man who just left the Mansion. What can you tell me of him?"

Charles was surprised. "Walter Lawson?"

"If that's his name," Christopher said. "I've never seen him here before."

Charles considered. Christopher seemed very intent on his question... "Well, Walter Lawson is a man who represents an organization devoted to exploring whether alien influences have had an impact upon human evolution. Naturally, _we_   would be of interest to him. And _he_ is of interest to _me,_ because his people have actual evidence of such influences."

To Charles' amazement, Corsair put his head back and roared with laughter. He laughed until tears literally came to his eyes. "Don't tell me, let me guess," he finally was able to say. "He's told you about the influence of an ancient Galactic Empire called the Kree. Am I right?"

Charles was dead silent for a moment. "That is exactly what he has told me," Charles finally said. "And could you tell me, Christopher, how _you_   knew this?"

Summers shrugged. " _That,_ Charles, is explained easily enough. This 'Lawson'--he's a Kree himself."

Charles Xavier couldn't have spoken at that moment if his life depended on it. It was almost a full minute before he could respond. "My God. Christopher--are you _sure?_ "

Corsair nodded with a grim smile "I know a Kree when I see one, all right."

Charles' head bowed. He put his hands over his face. "Oh, my God. What have I done?"

"I don't know, Charles. What _have_   you done?"

He looked Corsair in the eyes. "I have give an alien some of our most secret information. Have you any idea why he should want it, Christopher?"

Summers considered the question. "Well--if what he told you _is_ the truth--do you believe it is, Charles?"

Charles was relieved to have a question that he thought he could answer. "Yes. Yes, I'm sure of it. The evidence he showed me was very convincing."

"--Very well, then. If it is, then he must feel what you do--that there's some connection between the Kree's old experiments, and earth's mutants. Something that's important in the here-and-now."

Charles froze. "Oh, my God. The Stranger."

"Exactly." Christopher Summers smiled insouciantly. "Our old friend. _We_   have encountered him a time or two ourselves... This bird of fire Jean told me about. And Maria. It affected both of them deeply, Charles. Somehow, the Kree have learned of it. That's the _only_   reason that makes sense why a Kree agent should be here on Earth, getting inside your own counsels. It's the only thing that fits."

"So." Charles looked haggard and grim. He looked at Corsair. "These 'blinks' in time in this place you call the Crystal--Christopher, _that_   must have something to do with all of this. It must."

Summers nodded. "Oh, I agree. That's really the reason why I returned home--though of course, seeing Scott and Alex was worth the trip all by itself." He paused, looked thoughtful. "I've had a hunch, ever since I learned of the Crystal and these 'blinks' in time. That the answer was somehow _here_ , on Earth. " He paused and looked thoughtful. "That firebird... Charles--keep a close eye on Maria. And Jean."

Charles felt like the other man had punched him in the gut. "My God--you think that _that's_   connected with this threat to all of existence?"

"I do," Christopher said, looking Charles right in the eyes. "A hunch, as I said. But I have a good track record regarding my hunches, and I think you should keep it in mind."

Charles sighed. "My God... I don't know what to think right now. But it appears that we've become pawns in a game of interstellar intrigue. We're important, one way or another. Now we must find out why."

Christopher smiled. "Just remember one thing, Charles."

"What's that?"

"You say that you're a pawn. Well, what happens when a pawn reaches the other side of the board?"

Charles Xavier smiled. "It becomes the most powerful player of them all."


	72. Return Visit

Chapter Seventy-two

* * *

The ball came at Scott, and he took a good whack at it. It bounced against the wall, and came at Jean. It almost got past her, but at the last moment she pivoted off her left knee and reached it just before it scooted by. She hit it, and it bounced weakly against the wall. Scott hit it hard, and before Jean could get back into position it went past her. She sighed.

"I concede the point," she said. "What does that make the score?"

"Fifteen to eleven," Maria said cheerfully from the side of the gym where she was watching. "Scott's favor."

"Of course it is," Jean said grimly. "Well, we'll see about _that._ " She served, and the ball went off the wall hard. Scott hit it back, and it caromed weirdly off the wall, right towards Jean. She hit it with a firm _thwack,_ and the ball smacked against the wall and came right at Scott, who swung at it with his hand--

\--And missed it totally, passing by and hitting the opposite wall. There was an immediate response from the spectators.

"Hey!" Lorna called out. "I thought there were no powers in these handball games!"

"You said it!" Alex cried. " _That_   was cheating if I ever saw it, Scott!"

Jean stuck her tongue out at them. " _That,_ young man, was simply a stroke of genius. I do _not_   cheat. Right, Maria?"

Maria shrugged. "I'm afraid 'tis so, guys. Jeannie here is a straight shooter."

Scott nodded his vigorous agreement. "Absolutely. When Jean says 'no powers', she means it."

"Fine," Jean said. "And now that everyone knows how terrific I am, may we play the next point?" And she raised the ball with her TK and had it hover in the air in front of Scott. "Your serve, I believe?" she said, barely able to control her laughter. "Unless you'd prefer it if _I-_ -?"

Maria, Alex and Lorna all broke into laughter. Scott watched in silence, then shook his head and took the ball. He spoke not a word, but served. The ball headed towards Jean, and just as it reached her--

\--Stopped in mid-air. Jean looked at the ball with seemingly genuine stupefaction. "Guys-- _I'm_   not doing this."

"Oh, _right!_ " Maria said emphatically. "Oh, my. This is as brazen as the Brink's job. Aren't you going to hit it, Jean?" The others were laughing and oohing and ahhing, and even Scott looked oddly at Jean. The latter plucked the ball out from its position in mid-air and looked closely at it.

"There doesn't seem to be anything wrong with it--" She put the ball by her ear and shook it slightly. The others laughed and said words like "cheater" and "fix!", while Jean continued to examine the ball carefully. Scott, finally unable to hold it in another second, exhaled a short, sharp laugh, which made Jean turn towards him with suspicion.

"OK, mister. I heard that. Would you care to explain...?"

Scott shook his head, lips held together tightly. "Not on your life!" he finally was able to say, and the others started breaking into raucous laughter. And at that moment, Jean Grey knew why. Her examination of the ball finally bore fruit. There was the slightest hole in it--hardly more than a pin-prick. And the reason for this was made manifest a moment later, because she found there _was_   a pin placed inside the ball.

A metal pin.

"Lorna!" she cried, hurling the ball at the green-haired witch. Who stopped the ball in its tracks, laughing so hard she looked as if she might fall over. As were Maria and Alex, and even Scott--that traitor!--was joining in. Well-- _he'd_   pay for that later tonight. Oh, would he pay. She well remembered her tricks from the Lioness episode.

"This whole game has been a fix, hasn't it?" she said, still glaring at Lorna.

"They forced me," Lorna said wanly, trying her best to look "innocent". "Especially Maria. Jean, what could I do? She's bigger than me."

"You're _supposed_   to be an X-Man," Jean said icily. "That means you fight evil wherever you encounter it." She turned to Scott. "Well, we've found the _one_ way you can beat me at handball--cheating. What a way of showing a good example to our new recruits!"

"Why Jean--you'd begrudge me _one_   win?"

"You bet, buster." And then she started laughing, too, because she realized that they had intended for her to discover their plot all along. "OK--what's the _real_   score of this game?" she asked Scott, who shrugged.

"God knows," he said. "I suppose I'm willing to concede this game--"

" 'Willing'?" Jean said, voice disbelieving. "You're _willing?_   By God, I'll show you--" She hurled ball, and anything else she could find, right at him, and he skipped aside with ease. She glared at him, with a look that said: _OK, mister. You got me good. Just wait until tonight, and we'll see who has the last laugh._ And he responded with a look that said: _I can't wait._

After that little fiasco, Scott and Alex played a _real_   game, that was nip-and-tuck until Alex finally won the last three points to pull it out. Jean watched with Maria and Lorna, but maintained a dignified silence befitting her injured innocence. At least, she maintained a dignified silence until Maria told Lorna in a low voice exactly what Jean intended for Scott that evening, and Lorna listened with eyes wide open, as if she couldn't believe that such things were possible. Jean got serious for a moment--Lorna's own demons might be stirred by this talk, no matter how innocent. But then her fears receded, as Lorna laughed and joined Maria in the banter. Jean couldn't help it--she leaned over and hugged Lorna out of sheer delight at her presence, and admiration for her courage. Lorna, after her initial surprise, hugged back hard, and Maria got into the act, hugging both girls. This was all so ostentatious that the game came to a brief halt.

"Scott?" Alex asked uncertainly. "Is this some lesbian thing or other?"

"I don't think so," Scott said cautiously. "But then, the way things evolve around here, you never really know--" His answer was cut short by a wave of balls, rackets, and other paraphernalia coming his way in a stream provided by a laughing Jean.

* * *

"So that's the story, Reed," Charles Xavier said to Dr Reed Richards, who was sitting in his study. "I'm sorry to bring this to your attention so soon after your honeymoon, but I think it needs to be dealt with."

Reed shook his head. "No, no, Charles, think nothing of it. You did exactly the right thing." He looked at some of the information Charles had provided him--information the man named "Lawson" had provided _him._ "Well, so we have two alien races now. First the Skrulls--and now, the Kree. And of course, this being you call the Stranger."

"Exactly," Charles said. "Reed, I'm convinced--as is Major Summers, by the way--that the Stranger's invoking this bird of fire around Maria--and Jean's strange response to it--is at the heart of all this. And you know, too, what Christopher said about these strange 'blinks' in time. They must be connected. _He_   certainly thinks so. Why else would the Kree be _here,_ on _this_ world, now?"

Reed looked thoughtful. "There does seem to be a pattern here..." He looked at Charles. "Charles--we have recently broken the speed-of-light barrier. The Fantastic Four."

Charles gasped. "My God! Are you going to tell the world about this breakthrough?"

"I hadn't planned to as of yet. Now, though--with things as they are--" Reed sighed. "I don't know, Charles. I just don't know. There are nightmares out there in the Universe. The Earth needs to know about these nightmares. But we need to learn more first."

"I agree," Charles said. "But in the meantime--what do we do?"

"This Lawson. You have an address for him?"

"Certainly." Charles gave Reed an address in Manhattan. Reed studied it briefly.

"Excellent," he said. "Charles--let me approach this 'Walter Lawson'. If he is an alien being, he must be scientifically advanced far beyond us. Perhaps he regards us all as barbarians. But I must try to appeal to his civilized instincts. Would you say he has these?"

Charles nodded vigorously. "Oh, absolutely. Whoever--whatever--he is, Walter Lawson is a learned and civilized being. Reed--I believe you are doing absolutely the right thing. You have my full support, and please let me know if there is _anything_ I can do to help."

"Actually--if you would permit me to examine your files on Maria and Jean. The ones the Stranger influenced so much."

"Of course. You've been more than generous with _your_ records for me. I shall open them up to you at once."

"Excellent." But Reed seemed to have something else on his mind. "Charles--"

"Yes, Reed?" Charles said.

"Something is approaching. Something terrible, nightmarish. Beyond our imaginations. Beyond what we _can_ imagine. I don't know what I mean. I only know it's so. I _sense_   it."

Charles was quiet for some time. "Reed...?"

"Yes, Charles?"

"...I agree. I've felt-- _something-_ -myself. And I believe that time is getting short."

Reed nodded. "I agree, Charles. I agree." Reed soon left the Mansion, with the information Charles had promised him. Charles Xavier sat behind his desk, feeling the weight of the Universe sinking down on his shoulders. He had indeed sensed something unimaginable to humanity, in its isolated ignorance. Perhaps he sensed this subliminally from Christopher's thoughts, though he tried his best to avoid reading the man's mind without his permission. Also--that sense he had felt, on and off, for so many months now. Of _someone_ out there, on this world, some invisible chess player. Working at cross purposes to him, not malevolent at all, but having its own agenda. He wished more than ever this being, whatever it was, would contact him. Time _was_   getting short, and he felt that this figure had some of the answers he needed.

* * *

Maria Gianelli McCoy opened the front door, and knew immediately that she was in trouble. The Toy was out, right in the middle of the front hall. Well, it was hardly unexpected. She looked around, but knew better than to think she'd see Lucy. The cat was wont to hide and sulk in these circumstances. She let the Toy do her speaking for her.

Sighing to herself, Maria walked to the kitchen with the groceries and slowly unpacked them. Every time she went out of the house--even to get the mail--and didn't let Lucy accompany her, Lucy would growl and sometimes hiss, and sooner or later--usually sooner--she'd go to the living room, and grab the Toy out of the basket. It was a simple little rag toy with tassles streaming from it, but Lucy was very particular and insisted on using _this_   moth-eaten old thing. With a terrible noise emanating from her throat, a howl from hell, she'd wander around the house, leaving the Toy wherever she thought Maria would feel the most humiliation at seeing it. Usually this was the front hall and environs, but when Maria was especially derelict in her duties, it might range as far as the basement and the washing machine area. If she saw it _there,_ Maria knew she was in real trouble. Today, she had taken the jeep into Adams for a visit to the A &P for groceries--including cat food.

"Doesn't that count?" she said to the air, to the world at large, hoping Lucy would hear the words. She listened. Nothing. That meant that Lucy really was sulking somewhere, but would probably deign to forgive her in time--usually when she was hungry. And speaking of which, her bowl was empty. Maria sighed to herself. Lucy ate _all_   the food she left in the dish? And yes, her water dish was empty, too. Well, _that_ at least she'd do something about. She half-filled the water bowl, and placed it on the floor while she unpacked the groceries. Maria hadn't gone out of her way to be unsociable in this 1960s world, but she didn't encourage friendships, either. What could she say, anyway, to people who asked her where she was from, what her life had been, what her plans were? Even the fact that her younger self was now a celebrity didn't really change this. No one connected her to the young member of the X-Men, Shift. Why should they? After all, she--Maria McCoy--looked "human". And Maria laughed, as she always did whenever she thought of that word.

_Slurp--slurp--slurp._

Ah. Indeed. Lucy, at her water dish, lapping it up. Her back was turned to Maria, and her posture seemed to say, "don't think you're forgiven. But I _shall_   permit you to do your duty to me. After all, I'm not a fanatic about it." Maria watched Lucy, a wistful expression on her face. She privately thought that Lucy was giving in a little too easily--letting her thirst override her better judgment. She hoped Lucy wasn't getting soft. As a cat, Lucy realized how important protocol was. As an ex-galactic empress, Maria had a pretty good idea of how it worked herself. But she had to admit, Lucy beat her all hollow when it came to dealing with its intricacies.

The dishes put away--and the Toy returned for now to its basket in the living room--Maria sat down in her rocker and relaxed with a cup of coffee. Coffee seemed to taste better here in 1965 than it did in 2012. Why this should be she couldn't imagine. But it was certainly a fact. The hot fluid went down well on this hot day. It was of course more cooling to drink a hot drink than a cold one. Still, every once in awhile she had a real, old-fashioned Coke without worrying about sugar or caffeine or anything else--just as people did in 1965. As _she_   did at the Mansion, with her friends, in those far-off--but contemporary--days.

Maria started. What was that? A sound? She listened again- Yes, no doubt about it. Out front. She had a visitor. She looked out the front window--and froze. What the hell was _he_   doing back here? Well, only one way to find out...

She went to the front door, just as it rang. She opened the door, and saw Victor von Doom standing there. "Your Majesty," she said carefully. "I wasn't expecting to find you back at my door."

He nodded brusquely. "I should imagine," he said. "Well, there is good reason for my presence. If I may?" And she let him enter, and sat him down in the living room. He gave a quick glance into the computer room, and took a seat across from her rocker. She sat down and raised her eyebrows at him.

"Some refreshment, your Majesty?" she asked. He shook his head.

"Thank you, no. I am here, Madame, because I have remained unhappy about certain aspects of our last meeting. This unhappiness has been preying upon me. I need to get some things straight between us."

"Do you indeed," Maria said. "I find that interesting. What, exactly, were your concerns, your Majesty?"

"I am not happy that you were able to spirit my Lorna Dane robot away from my castle to this place so easily, for one thing," he said. "The simple fact of your being able to do so despite my precautions--and I assure you, I _did_   take them--shows that in your time, you have surpassed me. I am not sure whether I can approve of this." His accent was pure Oxbridge today, sounding a good deal more British than--say--Prince Phillip's. Maria raised her brows as she sipped her coffee.

" 'Approve', your Majesty? Approve what? That technological progress rolls on? That neither requires your approval nor disapproval."

He made a brusque gesture. "Do not play games with _me,_ Miss Gianelli! You know what I mean! Your coming here and assuming that you can overawe me. Like I am not a serious factor in your plans. That just might be a serious mistake, Miss Gianelli."

Maria put her coffee down and smiled. "Actually, Doctor, it's Mrs McCoy."

"Is it indeed," he said in a deadly quiet voice. "Well, well. Congratulations are in order. That is _another_   thing I have wondered about. Exactly how you _did_   transform yourself from the freak you now are into a real woman."

"I met my Fairy Godmother," Maria said lightly. The man across from her did not seem impressed.

"No doubt. A Fairy Godmother named Jean Grey, I take it?"

Maria shrugged. "Well, Doctor, you understand I can't really talk about this. You know--how knowing the future would change your free will in today's world--the whole business."

Pause. "Mrs McCoy--do not overestimate your tactical advantage in this situation. That would be a great mistake."

Maria thought hard. It _would_   be a great mistake to take this man lightly for an instant. Very well.

"Doctor--do you know of the M'Kraan Crystal?"

"I do."

"Indeed. I am surprised. Might I ask where you obtained this information?"

Doom actually laughed. "From the same place that you became human, Mrs McCoy."

Maria pursed her lips. She had perhaps deserved that answer. She was on very treacherous ice right now. "Doctor--I am here to help see to it that the Crystal is repaired, in a time of crisis three years from now." _I_ _think_ _it is three years. The chronology is so screwed up here--_ "In pursuant to this, I have felt it necessary to--as you put it--'overawe' you. And not only you."

Doom seemed satisfied by this answer. "I see. What if I were to tell you, Mrs McCoy, that the Crystal is _already_ in a time of crisis, as you put it?"

Maria shut her eyes. Of course. This explained so much. The timelines were never congruent... But this _was_ early. Well, it was what it was. She had sensed all along that she had less time than she originally counted on. She opened her eyes.

"Your Majesty--I really must insist that you share with me the source of your knowledge."

Doom laughed again. "Richards knows, my dear Maria. Oh yes, Richards knows. That means that _I_   know."

"Yes, that makes sense." It had been hidden damned well, too--otherwise, her sources of information would have rooted it out. "Very well, Doctor. What do you intend to do about it, and why are you here, today?"

" _Me?_ " Doom said with a hint of maliciousness in his voice. "What can _I_   do, my dear Mrs McCoy? I have not the power to deal with something this significant."

"Please," Maria said, putting her hand up wearily. "Doctor--either you quit fencing, or you can leave. I feel perfectly adequate to deal with this crisis as I see fit. I do not need _you,_ to speak bluntly. So please."

Doom nodded. "You are absolutely right, my dear, and I apologize. Let _me_ be blunt, then. You are here from the future, from Phoenix, to fix the Crystal. To see to it that it _is_   fixed. You have less time than you thought you had--much less time. And forces greater than you are gathering throughout the Universe. Am I right?"

"For the most part," she replied. "All except, perhaps, your last. I represent Phoenix. There is no force greater than that."

"You are not Phoenix." This was stark. Maria shrugged.

"Perhaps. But she is watching over me, if I may put it like that. I am under her protection. In _any_ time. The decision, if you will, to right matters belongs in my hands more than anyone else's, Doctor."

Doom pondered this. "Perhaps you are correct. Perhaps. But it doesn't change my main point. Powers are coalescing. They are fixed upon the Crystal--and upon Earth. Maria McCoy, I intend to be one of those powers."

"Ah," Maria said. "You intend to utilize the power of the Crystal for _your_   benefit? Doctor--you are mad. Totally mad. Such a feat is beyond you."

He was quiet for a moment. "You told me once that it was my fate to reach for power--power too great for me to control--and fail. I have pondered those words, Maria McCoy. I have concluded that you are correct."

Her eyebrows rose in surprise. "Indeed, Doctor? You amaze me."

"Perhaps I do. But it remains true." He looked intently at her. "You--Madame, you have the air of one who has wielded great power. That is so, is it not?"

She nodded. "It is. I have ruled an entire galactic empire." She laughed. "Your Majesty, let me assure you--it really sucks."

"Perhaps." He looked hard at her. "An entire interstellar empire. I am in awe, Madame. An Earthwoman."

"Yes," she said simply.

"Maria--I am going to do my best to save the world. Save the Universe. I have not renounced any of my goals. But if there is nothing to rule, nothing to dominate?" He shrugged. "Also-a being of overwhelming power is on the verge of entering the playing field. I am not sure of the nature of this being, only that he exists. He is _so_ powerful that even _I_ know I am no match for him--at least, not now. And if he gets his way, everything else will be irrelevant."

 _Galactus._ For an instant, Maria felt a shiver of fear. So he _was_   going to play a part in this, after all. Well, she had expected it. Still-- Doom watched her like a hawk. He realized immediately that she knew what he was talking about.

"Who?" he demanded. "Who is this power, woman?"

She shook her head. " _That,_ your Majesty, you must discover for yourself. If I told you, you would not believe."

Doom, for once, looked shrivelled sitting in his chair. "So. It is like that, Maria?"

"It is, Victor." Her familiar use of the name caught him by surprise.

"My God--it is like _that_   in 2012, then?"

She laughed. "It is. You're actually a pretty nice old man."

He got to his feet. "Whatever happens, _Mrs McCoy,_ I assure you that I shall never be a nice old man!"

"Victor--we can only be what the fates assure us we shall be." And she laughed and laughed, as Victor von Doom stormed out of the house. She watched him depart, and thought of Galactus. She had encountered him in her time, more than once. He and Jean had finally reached a _modus operandi._ But that was still many years in the future. Now--?

She sighed. _Let the games begin._ And, speaking of games--

 _Wooowwwrrr!_ Lucy was at her feet, demanding some solid nourishment. Maria sighed, and--picking Lucy up--headed towards the kitchen.

* * *

Wilson Fisk read a report from one of his runners. Dull; meaningless. He crunched the paper up and threw it out. To hell with it. The only thing that mattered was Raven and the Sentinels. She _had_   to learn more from Trask. And she _had_   to get over her funk as a result of her killing the Frost woman. For God's sake, Raven was a grown-up. A professional. And she'd damned well better remember that, and soon. The situation was too dangerous for weakness or sentimentality. The possibility of nuclear war was very real, if Trask was mad enough to attack the USSR with his Sentinels and kill _their_ mutants.

He shut his eyes. His headaches were getting worse. No matter. His eyes flashed open, and he called his secretary on the intercom: "Anyone else today?"

"Just one," his secretary said. "A Doctor Strom. Shall I send him in?"

"Yes, yes," Fisk said, and the door opened and a middle-aged man entered. He was balding and non-descript, and Fisk wearily waved him into a seat. Mendel Strom was some sort of expert on robotics, and Fisk hoped he could tell him something about the Sentinels--if he had heard anything about them, how they might work, whatever. He shut his eyes again, and was about to open them to start questioning when he heard a feminine voice say:

"The caaahhlliiiaa lilies ah in buh- _loom_ tooodaaay." He opened his eyes, and was startled to see a youthful Katherine Hepburn sitting across from him, wearing an X-Man uniform, "Strom's" clothes laid out neatly on the floor.

"What the hell?" he said, getting angry, when "Katherine" turned in front of his eyes into the X-Man known as Shift.

"Hello, Mr Fisk," she said. "I gotcha, didn't I?"

Wilson Fisk turned a beet red color. "What the hell do _you_   want?" he asked angrily. "Miss--I do _not_   appreciate games like this."

"Well, now, Mr Fisk, that's a very good thing, because I'm not here to play a game," she said. "Mr Fisk--I come on behalf of the X-Men. We think that you and we need to arrive at an understanding. After all, we both have the same goal--to stop the Sentinels. Am I not correct, sir?"

Fisk rose out of his chair. "Get out."

Shift's brows rose. "Oh, my. You don't wish to hear my offer, Mr Fisk?"

" _Get out!_ " But Shift did not get out. Instead, she reached out for him with her right arm and raised him to the ceiling. Fisk slowly turned purple, not with fright but sheer indignation at being put into such a position.

"Well, Mr Fisk, you see, I'm under instructions. And those instructions don't include just leaving without our arriving at that understanding I mentioned."

"My God! Don't think you damned freaks can strong-arm _me!_ "

"Oh, my, Mr Fisk. 'Strong-arm' is _such_   an ugly word." And she laughed with an exaggerated, theatrical sinisterness. "But really, Mr Fisk, consider this an introduction. Let's speak in plain English, shall we? We _are_ stronger than you are. It's finally become clear to us that maybe we need to rub your face in this fact, just a little. After all--Emma Frost was a mutant."

Fisk was silent for a moment. "I shall flay the Changeling alive," he finally said.

Shift seemed to consider this. "Well, now, Mr Fisk, I rather don't think you will, at that," she said. "We sort of have him--" she laughed slightly-- "under our protection. And we would take _very_   unkindly--very unkindly indeed--to any assaults upon his person." And Shift's voice, Fisk realized, was slowly taking on an edge--as if she was impersonating Sydney Greenstreet. My God--was she mocking _him?_

"I can wait," he said. "Ten years. Twenty years. Until he--and you--have relaxed your vigilance. Then--" His eyes bore into hers.

"Well now, Mr Fisk, maybe you will and maybe you won't. But for now--" She giggled. "Would you agree that you're out of your--well--weight class?"

Fisk flushed even redder. "Miss--Gianelli, isn't it? Well, Miss Gianelli, I shan't forget this little interview. I shan't forget it at all."

"Fine by me," Shift said, letting Fisk down. He sat back down in his chair with all the dignity he could muster. "But let me say, Mr Fisk--if you ever touch a hair on Frank's head, all your hoodlums and muscle will keep you from me for about--oh, I don't know, ten seconds or so. Do I make my meaning clear?"

"You do," he grunted. He took a deep breath. He was taking this too personally. This was business, after all. He was beginning to see that now. And if the X-Men could help against the Sentinels, he could forgive this child's...exuberance. Even her acting like a character out of a Forties movie. "Let's talk, Shift."

"Ah," she said, smiling broadly. "Excellent. By all means, Mr Fisk, let's talk." For a second, Fisk thought she was going to say: "By all means, let's talk about the Black Bird." The thought, to his astonishment, almost made him smile. This girl, he saw, while she had had a great deal of hard experience, was still innocent in many ways. He wondered just how long _that_ was going to last.

"What does Xavier want of me?" he asked, and she looked very serious for a second.

"He wants the following, Mr Fisk. Assurances from you that you will not harm the Changeling. A definite date for the end of Raven's assignment. There is a limit on just how much she can find out, and if Trask isn't confiding in 'Creed' anymore, her masquerade--apart from being a source of personal danger--is becoming useless. Any information you might have gathered concerning the Sentinels. In exchange, we shall not pursue the death of Emma Frost any further--and the Professor wants me to assure you that _that_   condition is a very painful one for him. We shall also share _our_   knowledge of Trask and his plans, in case you are able to hamper them in ways which we cannot. We shall both pool our knowledge of this matter, and neither of us shall move in any way regarding the Sentinels without consulting the other."

Fisk shut his eyes. He knew how to make the best of a bad situation. So be it. He opened his eyes. "I agree to all your conditions. Unreservedly."

She smiled. "Very good, Mr Fisk. I'll inform the Professor." Her smile broadened, in a way that Fisk didn't particularly like. "Of course, this includes a vow not to move against Frank, too, doesn't it?"

He nodded wearily. "It does."

"Fine." A blank expression came over her so-called face, and then, by God, she Shifted into Humphrey Bogart. "It's a real pleashure, to deal with such a dedicated bushiness man such ash yourshelf, Mr Fisk." And she Shifted back to normal, and bowed, and left his office.

Fisk thought hard for a moment. He saw no way out of this deal. He would actually have to honor it. Even the Changeling. He _was_   out of his weight class. Well, the first law of business was accepting reality. Besides, time was long. The future was uncertain. Sooner or later, he would find a way to regain the advantage. And when he did--

He opened a compartment in a small table next to his desk, and poured himself a brandy. He never took spirits during business hours, but in this case he made an exception. He sipped the brandy, and thought again of the girl known as "Shift". After a moment, he actually chuckled. Her Bogart imitation had been damned good.


	73. Jameson Makes a Commitment

Chapter Seventy-three

* * *

Captain Marr-Vell of the Kree Imperial Navy sat back in his apartment, considering this strange world. So primitive, yet so vital. And so _important._ He had spent much time wondering about this. Why would the Phoenix choose _this_   world, _this_ girl, for an Avatar? There were other races that were more worthy, by any objective measure. But it was _Earth_   that seemed to have significance in ways that hadn't been gauged properly yet. _Why?_

A knock on the door. He came to, startled. Who on Hala could _that_ be? He had no friends, or even acquaintances, on this planet. He spent his whole time studying and cultivating Xavier and the X-Men. Could it be one of _them?_   Well, only one way to find out, he thought as he walked to the door. It would be a relief were it merely another salesman...

He looked through the glass spy-hole, and gasped to himself. A human. One he recognized. He opened the door like an automaton, and Reed Richards stood there, in suit and tie, looking cautiously at him.

"Dr Walter Lawson?" he asked carefully, and the one who called himself "Lawson" nodded dumbly. "May I come in? I'm Reed Richards."

Marr-Vell sighed. He knew that he had been exposed, somehow. Well, there was nothing for it. He wasn't powerful enough to challenge either the X-Men or the Fantastic Four--not without a Kree battle fleet to back him up, and none was available. Ronan himself would tip the scales, but he was hundreds of millions of miles away. "Won't you come in, Dr Richards?"

Richards did so, and soon the two men were sitting across from each other in the living room. Marr-Vell chose to be bold. "How was I discovered, Dr Richards?"

Richards smiled tightly. "So you're not going to waste my time. Excellent, Dr Lawson. Or is there another name you should prefer to be called?"

A pause. "I believe my real name would suffice, Dr Richards. Marr-Vell, Captain in the Kree Imperial Navy."

A nod. "Fine, Marr-Vell. Let me say, before anything else, that whatever your motives or goals, it is a privilege to welcome you to Earth. I believe firmly that it is the destiny of all races and intelligences to work together and become something greater than the sum of their parts. If I can begin the work of integrating Earth into such a framework, I would regard my life as well-spent indeed."

Marr-Vell was impressed by this speech. It had a touch of the Kotati about it--the Kree's traditional pacifist sect--and many "realistic" Kree sneered at them. But a number of Kree--even in the military--secretly admired the Kotati, and had idealistic views as to the nature of the Kree Empire. Richards, he sensed--and indeed, knew from the news reports about him and the so-called "Fantastic Four"--was far from a pacifist. But he was also an idealist, and Marr-Vell felt that here was an Earthman whom the Empire could understand--and do business with.

"I appreciate those words, Dr Richards," he said to the Earthman. "I am, of course, a military man, and must obey the orders of my superiors. But personally, I find your attitude very encouraging."

"Very well," Richards said nodding. "Now, Marr-Vell--since you know that I am aware of your presence on Earth, let us not waste time. What, precisely, _is_ your reason for being on Earth right now? Is it connected to the Skrulls?"

For the briefest of instants, Marr-Vell was tempted to embrace the opportunity Richards had just given him and agree that his mission was Skrull-related. Then, reluctantly, he decided against it. It would mean having to invent lies wholesale, and he doubted he could fool this man with them. To hell with it. He had too much respect for Richards to do that.

"Not really, Dr Richards," he said. "Although we have certainly noted their appearance on your world. No, I am here for information regarding the X-Men." And gingerly, he explained a little of what the Supreme Intelligence had told Ronan, and himself. About the Stranger. About the Phoenix. And about the young women named Jean Grey and Maria Gianelli. Richards listened to all this intently, and when Marr-vell was through he shook his head.

"My God," he said slowly. "So Charles was right... Captain--the word 'Phoenix' is a new one to me, and the concept is very alien. But if what you say is true--and I sense you haven't told me everything you know of it--"

Marr-Vell smiled enigmatically. "There must be room for some secrets, Dr Richards. I should imagine your government has similar--limitations."

Richards smiled in return. " _Touche,_ Captain," he said. "But whatever the truth of _that,_ the reality of this Phoenix seems to be a major fact of life concerning our planet. You have no idea why this Force chose _this_ young mutant?"

Marr-Vell shook his head. "No idea whatever, Dr Richards. But our leader, the Supreme Intelligence, thinks it is very significant." Marr-Vell was not about to tell an Earthman what the Supremor had said about the ultimate importance of Earth. Best not let _those_ notions loose in the heads of _any_   Earthman--even Reed Richards.

Richards frowned. He seemed dissatisfied with Marr-Vell's answer. "But by God--this makes _our_   world--our mutants--cosmically significant. Marr-vell--the reason for _that_   must be available to us. Somehow!"

Marr-Vell shrugged. "Oh, I agree, Dr Richards. Why else am I here? Why else is an Accuser of the Empire out in the asteroid belt even as we speak, awaiting my findings? Why else would the Supremor have initiated this mission at all? But Xavier has told me nothing I couldn't have discovered for myself in any library. This girl, Jean Grey--or her friend Shift, who after all had the Raptor blaze about _her_   body when confronted by the Stranger--neither of them seems different in kind, their powers apart, from any other Earth inhabitant--human _or_ mutant."

Richards seemed to consider this. "Well, then, Captain, we must be content with what we have. I myself have asked Charles for information regarding his students, especially Jean and Maria. Perhaps I can come up with something." He seemed to think of something, because he looked hard at Marr-Vell. "And you, Captain--are _you_ going to be here indefinitely? What exactly _are_   the parameters of your mission, anyway?"

Marr-Vell shrugged. "I am here as long as Ronan--and the Supremor--wish me to be here, Doctor. I have seen no indication that they intend to cut my mission short."

Richards nodded. "Very well. Captain--I suggest an alliance of convenience for the moment. We pool our knowledge. With the full understanding that our interests do not necessarily coincide in the long run."

Marr-Vell thought quickly. Ronan--how would _he_   regard this "alliance?" He sighed to himself. To hell with Ronan. He was out there, lording it in his ship. Marr-Vell was _here,_ on the ground, having to make the decisions. It would be far from the first time he had to make key decisions without consulting his superiors. Usually, they agreed with his actions. And when they didn't, they usually had to lump it, anyway. He nodded.

"That is acceptable, Dr Richards." They shook hands on it, and Marr-Vell was alone again soon afterwards. He sighed to himself. Best get this over with. Out came the uniwave transmitter, and soon he was telling Ronan of the conversation he had just concluded with the Earthman, Richards.

The Accuser was silent for a time after he had finished. Finally, he stirred and looked hard at Marr-Vell. "You have dared much on your own authority, Marr-Vell."

"That is why I am here," he said simply. "Accuser--this was the only way to proceed, once my cover had been blown."

Ronan looked unhappy. "I am not saying otherwise, Captain." Silence. "Very well. For the nonce, we proceed with this 'alliance'. Carry on." And the line went dead.

Marr-Vell grinned. That had been a calculated risk, but he thought things had turned out well. The search for the truth was on. Who, he wondered, would arrive at the destination first? And what would the prize be, for those who did?

* * *

Warren stretched his wings, and his back, and looked out the window of the classroom. Even though it was July, education went on at the School. There had been a lecture, just concluded, by James Watson, co-discoverer of DNA. It was a good lecture, and he had several pages of notes, but he was glad it was over. Watson had left, after some tea provided by Carla. And Warren had wandered back here to the classroom, and wondered why. He looked at the blackboard--words like "recombitant", "junk DNA", "helix", and the like covered it. Maybe he just wanted to bask in the knowledge of his superiors. _Yeah, right._

He heard a slight cough, and turned to see Scott at the entrance to the room. "Warren...?" he asked.

"Yes, Scott?"

"I'm glad you're here," Scott said, looking out into the hall, then entering and shutting the door. "I've wanted to talk to you."

"Well, this is your chance," Warren said. "Am I in trouble, or anything?"

Scott smiled. "No, hardly... No, I need to talk to someone. A friend." He paused. "A male friend."

"Oh," Warren said, his face suddenly neutral. " _That_ kind of talk, huh?"

"I'm afraid so." Scott walked over to the classroom's desk, leaned against it. "I'm not sure how to say this--"

"Is there trouble in paradise?" Warren said. "Not between you and Jean, surely." A thought hit him then. "My God, Scott--she isn't--I mean--"

Scott laughed. "No, no, Warren. Nothing like _that._ Though I sometimes wonder if Jean wouldn't be happy if it _were_ true. She likes to make--well, ribald jokes about the matter."

Warren clucked. "That's not a good sign, Scott. It means she's really serious about it."

Scott waved a hand. "She's too sensible. And we've agreed, we won't even consider the matter until we're twenty-one. No, Warren, that's not it."

Warren waited patiently. Finally, he said: "Scott, unless you tell me, I can't say anything about it, you know."

Scott sighed. "I know, Warren, I know. But I'm not sure how you'll take what I'm going to say."

"Well, just say it, Scotty. A syllable at a time. Works for me."

"OK. Warren--can you love someone _too_   much?"

Warren suddenly wished he was somewhere, anywhere, else. "Uh--how do you mean that, Scott?"

"I mean that I'm losing my judgment. My sense that I'm in control. My feelings for Jean are overwhelming everything else in my life. I want sometimes only to take her and get away from here, so there won't be the slightest chance of her getting hurt. And I know how crazy that is. How insulting, really, it is to her. But it's how I feel. I think, well, with Alex and Lorna here, the team won't lose any power, and we can be safe. Even though I _know_   Jean wouldn't even consider the idea, and that anywhere we go, we would be just as much in danger as here. More so. But that's what I'm reduced to."

Warren smiled gently. "You just sound like a guy who's in love, Scotty, that's what _you_   sound like."

Scott shook his head. "I don't know what being 'in love' means, Warren--except for my feelings for Jean. And it's like my whole existence centers around that. My other roles--as Cyclops, as leader of the X-Men--they're getting pushed aside. I've actually considered asking to be relieved of my position as Team Leader, because I'm not sure I can be objective where she's concerned. Warren--every week, every day, my feelings for her get _more_   intense. The more--" He paused, and looked Warren right in the eyes. "You know we sleep together."

Warren nodded. "Of course. Everyone does."

"Yes. Of course. Warren--I don't know how this is supposed to work, but from what I've read and seen on TV, you're supposed to get used to it. It stays great, but you reach a zone and the sense of discovery--of newness--is over." Scott shook his head. "Well, that's not the way it is with Jean and I. Every day--every _night_ \--gets more intense, not less. The more we share, the more we experience, the more we have to draw on. The memories add up, and becomes a _gestalt_ that every touch makes anew, every night. Am I making any sense at all?"

"Totally," Warren said, awe in his voice.

"Yes," Scott said distantly. "Warren--what Jean and I are sharing is affecting my judgment. What do I do about it?"

Warren was silent for some time. Finally, he came over to Scott and squeezed his shoulder. "Scott--you know that Candy and I are in love."

Scott nodded. "Oh yeah, and I'm very happy for you both."

"Yes. And Hank and Maria are happy together, too."

Scott nodded again. "Yes. It's wonderful to see them together." He paused. "And Alex and Lorna hit it off. Lorna is damaged. You know that."

Warren nodded. "Yeah. Oh, yeah. I'm amazed she's survived as well as she has."

"Me, too. She's amazingly resilient."

"Right," Warren said. "But Scott--we're all in love. Sincerely in love. Deeply in love." He looked at Scott. "And then there's you. And Jean."

Scott smiled wryly. "As bad as that, huh?"

Warren looked hard at his friend. "Scott--there are things in this life that aren't really funny. Love is one of them. It's damned serious business. And I've never seen anything like what you and Jean have. And that's coming from someone who was in love with her myself."

Scott looked sad. "I know you were, Warren."

The two men exchanged a glance. "Yeah," Warren said a moment later. "Scott--I have no advice for you. There _is_   no advice for you. You're involved in something--well, legendary. You're part of a great love. And they have their own rules. It will do with the two of you what it will do. I wish I could be more reassuring, but there we are. That's how it is, as I see it. You and Jean will just have to see where the wave takes you in the end."

Scott looked very unhappy. "You don't sound very encouraging, Warren."

"Scottie--great loves generally don't make for encouraging reading. Especially the last chapters."

Scott took a deep breath. "It's not going to be like that for Jean and I, Warren. I won't _let_   it be like that."

"Maybe not," Warren said. "Just remember--both of you idiots have friends. And I mean, _friends._ Scott--there's nothing I wouldn't do for you. Or Jean."

Scott considered this for a second. "You mean that, don't you, Warren?"

Warren laughed. "I would give you guys every penny I have. I would lay my life down for you. And feel it a privilege. _Nothing_ means--well, nothing."

Scott nodded. "Thank you, Warren. That's all. Thank you."

"Sure," Warren replied, and the two young men grasped hands for a moment. "Now--has this helped you any?"

"I rather think it has," Scott said. "It would be foolish to leave a place that has friends like you, wouldn't it?"

"I should think so, you galoot."

Scott walked to the door. "Then I guess I won't." He smiled, and left the classroom. Warren stood there for some time, then laughed out of sheer joy. He went to the window, squeezed through, and a moment later was soaring over the Hudson. He soon saw Maria, in her eagle form, approach him.

"Hey, Blondie!" she called out. " _You_ sure look full of beans today!"

"Full of beans, huh?" he said with a laugh. "Tell you what, babe--how about a race to Bear Mountain and back!"

"You're on!" And the two friends flew like the wind, Warren Worthington full of the primal joy of life. Let fate do what it would. Today, he was alive, his friends were alive, and he was blessed.

* * *

Frank Gianelli waited in a bar on East Thirty-Seventh street, a seedy area that was beginning to get gentrified. The clientele of the bar, though, remained funky and a little sad. He was reminded of Saroyan's _The Time of Your Life._ Lost lives, people who were never going to see their dreams come true. He wondered, briefly, if that applied to him as well.

Ned Leeds showed up, and ordered a beer, which came promptly. He took a sip and made a face.

"What is this place, anyway? The set for _The Iceman Cometh_?" Frank laughed, and explained his own thoughts about the joint. It was Ned's turn then to laugh.

"Well, for better or worse we're here, _kimosabe,_ " Ned said. "Now--let's compare notes. Jonah is getting impatient. He wants to run something, anything, about Trask and the Sentinels."

Frank looked grim. "I've found out a lot--at least, as much as I can, now that I'm a 'celebrity journalist'."

Ned laughed. Frank found his blond hair, for some reason, even more irritating than usual. "Yeah. Your unique sister."

"You might say that." Frank lit a cigarette. "OK, Ned. I've found out a lot. But most it of it comes from only one source. We need two."

Ned shrugged. "Maybe. Maybe not. I have a feeling Jonah might compromise his journalistic ethics to put the kibosh on Trask."

"We can't afford to make a mistake."

"Maybe not," Ned said. "But let me tell you what _I've_   found out. The fat man has continued his personal interest in all this. You saw him early in the game. Well, he hasn't ceased and desisted his _own_   efforts." Ned paused. "In fact, I'll let you in on a secret, Frank, old buddy. He has a source right in the heart of Graydon Creed's outfit."

Frank whistled. "The Friends of Humanity? How'd you hear about _that?_ "

Ned smiled. "A magician never reveals his tricks, Mr Gianelli. Suffice it to say, it's true. Fisk is frantic. Thinks Trask is going to unleash World War Three."

"And _is_   he?"

"I rather think he is," Ned said with stolid resignation. "Pity. All of this splendor--" he waved a hand around the seedy bar-- "reduced to so much radioactive rubble."

"You don't sound very upset by the prospect," Frank said sourly.

"Oh well, civilization and I have never really hit it off," Ned said with a laugh. "But _you've_   heard similar rumors, surely? About Trask and his intentions?"

"Oh, yeah. All that--and more." He scowled. "Ned--I have to admit, I've hit a dead end. I reached just so many sources--then they dried up. It's the same for Xavier. _His_   sources of information make mine look tame, but even _he_   has hit a brick wall. Are you any further?"

"Not really."

Frank took a last drag from his cigarette, and put it out. "Then just maybe you're right. Maybe we need to go to Jonah and tell him the score. Let _him_   decide what the hell to do."

"Sounds good to me," Ned finished his beer, and looked at his watch. "I guess we've goofed off long enough. Got to get back to the salt mine." He left, and Frank sat there, slumped over in dejection. He could either get up off his ass, get back to work, or sit here and order another beer. Fuck it. He put his finger up for another.

* * *

Lorna and Alex walked into the kitchen, and were surprised to see the whole X-Men waiting for them. Jean smiled at them, and Lorna felt once more a sense of peace--of belonging.

"Miss Dane--Mr Summers--now that you've quit dithering and have officially signed on the dotted line, let me say: welcome to the X-Men. This is a traditional ceremony we've perfected over the years, to formally initiate our new suckers--uh, that is, recruits--into Professor Xavier's School for Gifted Youngsters. As my esteemed colleague Miss Gianelli can tell you--having been the last of us for whom this particular initiation ceremony has been unleashed upon--it just gets worse from here." They all laughed, including Alex and Lorna, and Lorna looked at Maria, who winked and saluted with one finger over her eyebrows. Lorna responded by lifting a fork and saluting with _it,_ and Maria laughed.

Maria. And Jean. Two such different girls. But they complemented each other wonderfully, and they both made Lorna laugh in their different ways. Maria was a born conwoman, and you had to cut the cards around her. But she was gritty and totally loyal, once she accepted you. She shared that trait with Jean; but the latter's humor was based more on affection and a sense that the world was off-kilter, certainly, but why not enjoy it all the same? Lorna, for one, intended to do so. She laughed at something Bobby said--Bobby was a jerk, but a nice one. Hank was intellectual, but still had a way about him that made you relax. Warren was just overwhelming, but still fun, and a very sweet guy. And then there was Scott. Scott was a mystery--quiet and brooding. But sometimes, he'd say just the right thing to puncture someone's balloon, and flash a crooked smile. Lorna already felt totally at home here, and compared to the life she had led these past two years-- Well, she wasn't going to think about _that_ too much. Professor Xavier would cure her, she'd move on, and that would be that. She laughed to herself. Sure. That simple, huh, kid? If only...

The initiation party went on its unique way, both of the newcomers having fun and taking it in the right spirit--or so Lorna hoped. At one point, she opened the door to the back yard and walked out to get a bit of air. She breathed in deeply, realizing in her bones that she was never going to see Mesmero again. That she was _free._ That thought still took getting used to.

"A penny for your thoughts." Lorna started; she hadn't heard Jean come outside and walk up to her.

"My thoughts?" Lorna said. "Jean--they aren't worth a penny. They aren't worth a warm bucket of piss, if you'll excuse my French." Jean laughed, long and hard, and Lorna joined her. "No, Jean, really--I'm just grateful to be here. And away from--" She shivered slightly, despite the heat of the evening. Jean put her arms around her protectively.

"I know, darling," Jean said. "I know. Nobody is ever going to hurt you again."

Lorna smiled crookedly. "That's an odd thing to hear, coming from an _X-Man._ Don't you face people who want to hurt you all the time?"

Jean shrugged. "Well--there's 'hurt', and there's 'hurt'. If you know what I mean."

"I know, Jean." Lorna sighed. "But my God--I just can't believe this place is _real._ I mean--even _I,_ in my--uh, solitude--heard things these past months about all of you. The X-Men, the Mansion. You." Lorna looked intently at Jean. "My God, Jean--you've become so famous!" She considered Jean carefully. "You don't seem spoiled by it all."

Jean tried to suppress a laugh, and finally quit the effort. "Oh, my! Lorna--being famous really stinks. Being a media sex-symbol stinks even more. It's all part of the job."

"Yes," Lorna said softly. "But only recently. Do you ever regret revealing your real identity, Jean?"

Jean shook her head. "No, not really. Oh--it was a hassle at first. We had all those demonstrations, all that hate mail--as well as other kinds of mail." Lorna noted with amusement that Jean was blushing. She wondered suddenly if _she_   was going to get "other kinds of mail", once _her_   identity seeped into the public's consciousness. Would her green hair make _her_ a "sex symbol" to some people? Then the face of Mesmero came into her mind again, and she shuddered. Jean noticed this, and hugged her again.

"Never mind _me,_ " Jean said briskly. "It was Maria's idea. A lot of what's happened this past year has been because of her. She isn't one for half-measures, as she's told us many times." Jean chuckled. "It's strange, Lorna--I feel that Maria is like a sister. _More_   than a sister--almost like a feminine version of my Shadow, my Anima. They're usually the other sex, but in _her_   case--!"

"And yet, you're both so unlike in so many ways," Lorna said. Jean nodded.

"Yes, I suppose we are. But we complement each other--like those areas we differ are parts of a larger _persona,_ that only becomes whole when we're together. Does that make any sense?"

"Totally", Lorna said with a grin. "I guess that means that _I'm_ an interloper in Paradise, huh?"

Jean laughed, and tossed up some gavel with her TK and threw it at Lorna--who pushed it aside with _her_   magnetic powers. "Miss Lorna Dane-- _you_ are our Third Musketeer! And I have no doubt but that we can match the originals in _any_ respect. Certainly in getting ourselves into trouble!"

Lorna shouted her approval. "One for all, and all for one!"

"Absolutely!" Maria had just come out to see what the other two girls were doing, and she heard the last exchange. She grabbed Lorna and tossed her into the air.

"Hear, hear!" she cried out to the night. "And no one can stand before us! Certainly no mere _male._ "

Jean and Lorna shouted their approval, and Jean had a sly look on her face. "Those poor schmoes," she said. "I mean Scott, Alex and Hank. We _must,_ as Musketeers, find suitable torments for them."

Lorna and Maria nodded enthusiastically at this. "I do believe that this is what I was born for," Lorna said, and Maria nodded her agreement.

"Miss Dane--I do believe that you are a natural for our revels."

"Miss Gianelli--I do believe that you are correct."

"And now that we've finished patting ourselves on the back," Jean said, " _I_ do believe it's time to get back in before the boys think we're plotting their downfall. And we can't have them thinking _that,_ now, can we?" The other two girls agreed emphatically that _that_ wouldn't do at all, and they walked back into the house. The boys had been gorging themselves on cake and tall tales about the X-Men's past exploits, and hadn't even noticed the departure of the ladies. Lorna wanted to give them all a rain of knives and forks, but thought better of it. The three girls could certainly find better ways of ruining them than _that._

* * *

Reed Richards was in his lab in the Baxter Building, watching activity on a screen in a place he wasn't sure existed. At least, not in the sense that Earth, say, "existed". It was a place of almost boundless void, yet it had strange characteristics. For instance--if his probes could be trusted, it had _breathable air._ How this could be, he had not the slightest notion. It _looked_ much like the "space" of the "real" Universe--a term that he was privately starting to regard as vaguely risible. It had negative capabilities from "known" space--but wasn't antimatter, in the usual sense of the word either, though there certainly were zones within this "space" where "real" matter would disintegrate if it came into contact with--what it came into contact with.

Reed sighed. He was coming to think of this entire place as "The Negative Zone". And he knew that the time was rapidly approaching when it would be his destiny to explore this new world, this new Universe. But not yet. Now, he was involved in this entire business of the Kree--and their connection to Xavier, and his mutants. It was a puzzling problem, no doubt about it. Reed pushed some buttons, and the atomic configuration of the X-Men appeared on a screen in the room. This was the same configuration he had used to get Ben restored to his human form, just long enough to penetrate Doom's defenses a couple of years ago, and thereby defeat him. He walked up to the screen, fascinated--especially with the details of Marvel Girl, and Shift. As a metamorph, Maria Gianelli's atomic structure had some of Richards' own patterns, with his elastic body. But somewhere within that pattern was also the ability to utilize strength greater than her own--such as her diamond form, which seemed, unfortunately, to have been destroyed by the creature known as the Juggernaut. Certainly Maria had never used it since, and Xavier felt that if she did, she would simply revert back to the pile of rubble it had been after its destruction. Reed shook his head slowly, watching with a terrible intensity, as if by looking hard enough it would bring him inspiration. Indeed, doing just that had worked before. But not today.

_A raptor of fire. What does_ _that_ _signify, dammit? And why did Jean react to it as she did? Why is it that_ _she_ _seems to be the Avatar of this 'Phoenix', anyway? Why her and not Maria, who after all was the one who actually burst into flame?_

_Beep. Beep. Beep._

He came out of his reverie, startled. His viewphone! There weren't ten people in the world who knew how to contact him via it. And any of _them_   would do so only in case of extreme emergency. He turned it on, senses alert.

His jaw dropped. Of all people on earth, Victor von Doom was the last one he would expect to contact him--via the viewphone, or any other way. But there his masked visage was, and Reed pulled his wits together to answer him.

"Victor," he said. "I am frankly surprised."

"I'm sure you are, Richards," Doom said with disdain. "It is, after all, your natural state. But whatever the truth of _that_   matter, we need to talk. About the Phoenix. About something called the M'Kraan Crystal. And about the fate of the Universe."

Reed thought very quickly. Doom--knowing about Phoenix! As for the Crystal, he cringed. Doom knowing about the crisis-- _there_   was a complicating factor. No matter. He had to reply _now._

"Victor--if you know something I should know, let's have it. I have come to a decision. The situation is too grave for any rivalry between us. Whatever your ulterior motives may be, I neither know nor care. But we must work in concert, or nothing else may matter."

"For once, Richards, we are in agreement." But Doom sounded as if he was swallowing his tongue in acknowledging this. "Let me speak first." And Reed, to his astonishment, heard about a farmhouse in the Berkshires, where an old woman named Maria Gianelli McCoy lived--a refugee from a world nearly fifty years removed from their own.

"There is something she knows, Richards," Doom said. "Something about a cosmic force so great that it beggars imagination. And she knows all the secrets that forty-seven years of scientific progress have brought the world. Richards--she must tell us those secrets. It may be our only chance."

Reed considered this. "Victor--let me tell _you_ something." And he told von Doom about the man named "Walter Lawson", the alien Kree visitor who was interested in the X-Men--and especially, in Jean Grey. Doom listened, not moving a muscle.

"Well, well," he said when Reed was finished. " _This_ is a fine kettle of fish, Richards. What do we do about it?"

Reed had trouble for a moment resisting a smile--Victor von Doom, asking _him_   for advice! But resist it he did. "Victor--I don't know what is happening, anymore than you do. But I _do_ know that life as we have experienced it on this Earth is coming to an end. Cosmic issues are breaching our walls of ignorance and security. Neither of those luxuries will ever be available to us again. For better or worse, Victor, we are becoming citizens of the Universe. It is a privilege to be present at the birthing of the true history of the human race."

"No doubt, old friend, no doubt," Doom said with a trace of impatience. "That is very noble of you, Richards. In the meantime, let us consider more mundane matters. This alien--Lawson. You trust him?"

"I trust him to keep to the letter of his word," Reed said. "I would expect no more."

"Hmmph." Doom considered this. "Then let us by all means ask him what he knows of this cosmic force the Gianelli woman alluded to," Doom said. "If he knows anything. But I suspect he does."

Reed thought hard. What Doom said seemed right to him. Yes, if Lawson--Marr-vell-- _did_ know something about this force, then getting information about it would make sense. It might not have anything to do with the events inside the Crystal--but then, it might. As for this time traveller who called herself Maria Gianelli McCoy...

"Victor--give me her address. I believe I need to speak with this woman."

Doom grunted, but deigned to give Reed the location of the farmhouse. Reed nodded. "Thank you, Victor. I shall visit her--and I shall speak again to Marr-Vell. I'll get back to you when I've done so."

Doom nodded. "Let it be so, Richards. And let it be quick." And he signed off. Reed stood there, so lost in thought that he didn't hear Ben Grimm enter the lab.

"Stretch? Hey--Earth to Richards!"

Reed started. "Oh! Sorry, old friend. I've just had a lot on my mind."

Ben cracked a smile on his ragged face. "I guess so," he said in his rumbling voice. "After all--leavin' a gal like Susie alone on her honeymoon to explore--" Ben stopped, looked at the screen with the image of the Negative Zone. "To explore _that?_ " he said, voice uncertain. "Stretch--please tell me that Orson Welles has started makin' movies again, and that this is part of it. Just tell me, OK?"

Reed smiled tightly. "Benjamin, your wit never ceases to be a source of constant exhilaration. If it pleases you to think of this as a scenario cooked up by Orson, then please--feel free to do so."

Ben looked hard at Reed. "Hmmph. So it's _that_ bad, is it?"

Reed spread his hands. "Or that good."

"You're a damned optimist, ya know that, Stretch?"

"It helps my digestion, old friend. You should try it sometime."

Ben snorted. " _You_ try bein' an optimist lookin' like me."

Reed smiled. "Maria Gianelli manages to do so quite well, Ben. You ought to take a lesson from her."

Ben gave Reed a dirty look. "Are you comparin' a blue-eyed beauty like me to _her?_ "

Reed shrugged. "I'd never dream of it, old-timer. Are you quite through with your self-pity for one day?"

Ben looked a bit sheepish. "Yeah. Yeah, I guess I am." He stared again at the screen. "That sure is a weird place. We headin' in that direction anytime soon?"

"I certainly hope not."

"Good enough fer me." And Ben left the lab, and Reed shut his eyes. Not knowing whether to laugh or not.

* * *

J Jonah Jameson looked out his window. His hands were clasped together behind his back, and his cigar was burning down. He looked at some far horizon, and finally cleared his throat and turned to the two men in his office. Neither Ned Leeds nor Frank Gianelli had spoken since he had risen from his desk and gone to the window, almost five minutes earlier.

"So. Ned, Frank. You're both convinced that we aren't going to get more sources?"

"Yes, Jonah," Ned said. "The doors have slammed shut in our faces. What we have is what we're going to get."

Frank nodded his agreement. "Absolutely. We either go with what we have, or we don't go at all."

Jameson considered for one last time. He had made many decisions before on journalistic matters. Some had been good, others had backfired. Some--like sitting on the Bay of Pigs invasion--had seemed the decent, patriotic thing to do, and he had regretted them immediately afterwards and ever since. All governments lie. He should never forget that. And they were lying through their teeth about this, too.

To hell with it. Every instinct he had told him that this wasn't the time for drawing his head back into his shell. He had spent months trying to get to the bottom of this. He had enough. There was only one decision.

"Gentlemen--we go. Now. Today." Ned and Frank looked at each other, and to Jameson's astonishment, they both slowly started to applaud. Jameson watched them silently, then did something he rarely did--he smiled. Not broadly, but noticeably.

"Thanks, boys. Just remember--the whole world might fall down on top of us."

Frank smiled. "Let it! Jonah--you're doing the right thing. But yeah, there's going to be hell to pay."

"It's in my price range," Jameson said, wishing he were as confident as he sounded. He picked up a phone, barked a short sentence into it, and put it down again.

"Well, Messers Leeds and Gianelli, we are now officially committed. We'll either end up with the Pulitzer or in jail." He paused. "Or both." He got out a bottle of old Scotch from somewhere, and produced three glasses. "Gentlemen--a last drink for the condemned." There was a clink of glasses, and the three men drank. Jameson wondered what the next few days would bring. Probably nothing good.


	74. The Storm Breaks

Chapter Seventy-four

* * *

The President of the United States looked at the headline of the _Daily Bugle_   with eyes that threatened to pop out of his head. _Genocide!_ the paper screamed. _US Government Sponsoring Mutant-hunting Robots,_ the sub-head ran. There was a picture of Trask below the fold, and one of a Sentinel--and how the goddam fucking hell had they gotten one of _those?_   Inside were details of the Sentinel project, and a map showing exactly where the goddam hell Trask's base was in upstate New York. And comments from various bigwigs about the whole idea. Denunciations of it from Pym, Richards, the usual suspects. Plus a comment from that freaky Xavier.

"I--and the X-Men--are shocked that a program exists with the avowed purpose of destroying a race of human beings. And let no one be in doubt--the purpose of these 'Sentinels' is nothing less than that. We call upon the United States government to disavow this project, and take steps to ensure that these machines can never be used for the evil purpose they were constructed for." Lyndon Johnson took a deep breath. Well hell on a handsaw, _he_ was horse-whipped right and proper no matter what the fuck he did. If he did nothing, then he was endorsing all this, even admitting the government's covert role in the whole mess. And if he took action against Trask--well, then he was on the side of the muties. And despite Jean Grey on the cover of _Vogue,_ people were good and scared of the goddam muties. So what did he do?

He took out a bottle from a desk and took a swig of bourbon. Bless it. Bourbon was invented for moments like this. He let it settle down his gullet, then took another swig. Then he put the bottle back down. Can't get drunk. Not today. This was the worst crisis he had faced since Dallas itself. All of a sudden, Vietnam didn't seem quite so important. Or civil rights, though he laughed bitterly to himself as he realized that the two crises--civil rights and the Sentinels--were connected. How were these Sentinels really all that different from the damned Ku Klux Klan, anyway? At heart, they were the same thing. He sighed to himself. He should have pulled the plug on Trask long ago. But he wanted all his options on the table. Now, Jameson had forced his hand. Johnson examined his feelings, and realized--with a start of surprise--that he wasn't angry at Jonah Jameson. He had done _his_   damned job, no more, no less. Now it was up to Lyndon Baines Johnson to do his.

He called an emergency meeting of the NSA for that afternoon. Everyone he wanted to be there would be there--everyone, that is, except for Dr Raven Darkholme. She had disappeared months ago, and no one could find out where the hell _she_   had gone to. Even that blind housemate of hers--they were lesbos, by all accounts--not even _she_ knew where Raven had gone. Or so she said. She was a strange one by all accounts--given to gnomic utterances that were as satisfying as a man's tit. He'd have to get that Nick Fury at the meeting. The new director of SHIELD was a man LBJ could appreciate--ex three-striper, ex-CIA, no bullshit in him. _He'd_   give him good advice. And God knew, the President of the United States needed it. He'd get the NSA to approve his decision to shut Trask down--after, of course, safeguarding the blueprints of the goddam Sentinels. After all, you never knew...

* * *

Bolivar Trask was contemplating that same cover of the _Daily Bugle_ from his base in the Catskills. He read it over and over again, his initial shock turning slowly into a steadfast determination. So they were exposed. It was all out in the open now. Good. Very good. He was ready.

Chambers stood before him. He was sweating. He of course had seen the headline as well. He knew what Trask was going to ask him. And he swallowed and nodded reluctantly.

"Aye, Mr Trask. Aye, they're ready enough for action, all right. But sir--" The sweat got heavier with every word he spoke-- "I'm still nae sure about that Master Mold beastie. I dunna believe we've entirely solved the problem of coordinated activity matched to their own individual initiative. There's a gap there that he can exploit."

" 'He' ?" Trask said acidly. " _It_   is a machine, Chambers. Nothing more. It can only do what it's programmed to do."

"If ye say so," Chambers grumbled. "Well, Mr Trask, it's your call, after all. With _this-_ -" and Chambers indicated the newspaper-- "all hell has broken loose. Ready or nae, we might just be at the 'use 'em or lose 'em' stage."

"I couldn't agree more," Trask said. "Mr Chambers--we are going to begin waking the sleeping giants. We are making the Sentinels operational. Within twenty-four hours. Assuming that the damned President doesn't send in the 82nd Airborne first." Trask sighed, shook his head. "I'll manage to hold him off _that_   long, if I have to. But we start now."

"Aye, sir," Chambers said with his Scotch dourness. The two men parted, each to their own tasks.

* * *

Wilson Fisk looked at the headline of the _Bugle_   with very mixed feelings indeed. If the fallout from this pulled the plug on the whole insane business, fine and dandy. But what if it merely made Trask push his deadline up? Things were at a delicate juncture. Literally anything was possible. He considered, and made a telephone call. He put the receiver down, satisfied. He had just ordered his wife Vanessa moved from New York to one of their homes in Australia. If things went out of control at least she would be safe there. He thought then about his son Richard, and made another phone call. The boy wouldn't like it, but he was leaving the country as well.

He thought of his agreement with the X-Men. That might bear fruit sooner than he had anticipated. Well, it was time to get Raven out of harm's way. He had agreed to do so, and she had certainly done all he could expect of her. He picked up a phone, and was talking to "Graydon Creed" a moment later.

"Fisk!" "his" voice came, massive relief in every syllable. "Thank God! You've seen the papers?"

"Of course," he barked. "What's the reaction at the Friends of Humanity?"

"It's a madhouse," Raven said. "Every mutant-hater in the world is trying to talk to me. They all want Trask to unleash the Sentinels _now._ They ask me to help him decide to do it. For God's sake, Fisk-- _is_ Trask going to do it?"

"I have no idea," Fisk said. "But it's simple prudence to assume that all hell is about to break loose. Raven. Get out of there. Now." He hesitated, and said through his teeth: "And tell the Changeling to do so as well."

Raven laughed. "He's already gone. Xavier contacted him mentally. Ordered him out. He contacted _me,_ too--asked if I wanted asylum with the X-Men."

Fisk grunted. "That shows more foresight than I would have expected of Xavier. You accepted, I trust?"

"Hell, no! Where do you think the Sentinels are going to go first? I'm heading for a cubbyhole, and taking Irene with me."

"As you wish," Fisk said. "I believe you are making a mistake, but that is your decision. Good luck."

"Thanks," Raven said with a resigned voice. The line went dead, and Wilson Fisk thought hard about his own options.

* * *

Magneto, too, had read the headline with astonishment. The other members of the Brotherhood were uncharacteristically subdued. Everyone looked out of the corner of their eye at the others. All of them kept glancing at Magneto.

"If this doesn't beat all," Magneto said. "Charles, I don't doubt, has known more all along than he let on at our meeting. He has kept it close to his vest. Perhaps that was just as well. He knew exactly how _I_   would have reacted."

At that moment, Eric felt a mental summoning. It was indeed Charles Xavier, and Eric let him in without protest.

 _Eric. You have read today's_ _Bugle_ _._ It was a statement, not a question.

_Of course._

_I had more information about all this than I led you to think, but not much more. Indeed, there is not all that much hard information in this story. But I_ _was_ _aware of certain basic facts. I was afraid you'd take matters into your own hands. I make no apologies for my decision._

_To hell with it,_ Magneto thought. _What do we do_ _now_ _?_

 _Be ready,_ Charles sent back. _The government believes that Trask may launch a preventive strike. We are preparing for it here at the Mansion. Do you wish to join us here, keep our forces together?_

_No. If we were one big target we could be wiped out with one strike. We shall remain here for the present. Should we raid Trask's base in the Catskills? These things are robots, after all. I could rend them like tissue paper. Send the Gianelli girl with me. Between us, we could make short work of them._

There was a pause. _Eric--I am not sure, to be honest. The President is invoking the National Security Council this evening. Dr Richards shall be at that meeting._ A pause. _And so shall I. I am being picked up by helicopter within a half-hour, and hence flown to Washington. I shall let you know immediately what happens there._

_Very well, Charles. But I maintain the right to decide anything on my own, if circumstances warrant._

_Of course. Until tonight._

_Until tonight._

Magneto felt Charles break off contact, and he took a deep sigh. He opened his eyes, and saw Lila Cheney watching him carefully.

"It's been awhile, Magnus."

"Lila!" Eric was so pleased to see her that he impulsively walked over and hugged her. "By God--! This _is_   a pleasure, Astra. Although I wish the circumstances were more cheerful."

"Tell me about it." Lila looked coolly at the surroundings, at the Brotherhood watching her. "I was spending some time along the Riviera, and heard this news. Looks like all hell is about to break loose, huh?"

Eric nodded. "It is very possible. Are you offering your aid?"

"Inasmuch as I can," she said with a shrug. "Listen, Magneto. If worse comes to worse, I'm ready to pull you--all of you," she said, looking at the Brotherhood, "away from Earth and off to one of a dozen planets I use as safe houses. For as short or long a time as you want."

Eric smiled. "Thank you, Lila. That is very much appreciated. I trust it shall not be necessary."

"Me, too. But keep it in mind. Until then, I think I'll hang around, OK?"

Eric laughed. "By all means."

* * *

Reed Richards looked carefully at the woman sitting quietly in a rocking chair, holding a gray kitten in her lap. She was in her sixties, very tall, strikingly handsome. _Maria Gianelli._ Free of the curse that made her "Shift". Reed wondered very much how that trick had been accomplished. If it was something that might give hope to Ben. Well, this wasn't the time to concern himself about _that..._

The kitten roused itself, yelled at Reed with a voice that seemed to belong to a lion or tiger, then purred and regathered itself in Maria's lap. It knitted a nest for itself, and curled up and fell asleep immediately. Maria smiled apologetically.

"I fear that Lucy is rather ferocious to strangers," she said. "But she really likes you. If she didn't, she'd hiss and run to the basement to hide."

Reed smiled. "Excellent. I wouldn't want _her_   as an enemy."

"Indeed not." Maria looked at Reed. "You of course have seen the _Bugle_   this morning. It's starting to happen."

Reed nodded. "Of course. And I go from here to Washington. There is a meeting of the NSA tonight, and I must be there." He seemed to consider. "I wonder, Maria--you don't mind my addressing you so--?"

She laughed. "It's my name, Reed."

"--Of course. I am wondering if you should not attend the meeting as well? With your--unique--vantage point?" But Maria was shaking her head.

"No, Reed. No, that would serve no purpose. And it would not be in keeping with my mission."

"Ah," Reed said carefully. "We come to it. Just what _is_   your mission, Maria?"

"My mission," Maria said simply, "is to prepare the way for the revitalization of the Universe, at a moment of maximum danger to it."

Reed was silent for a moment. "And does this have something to do with Phoenix? And that raptor of fire that your younger self was enveloped in, when she and the X-Men met the Stranger?"

"It has everything to do with it." Maria was silent for a moment. "Reed--I believe I can speak more freely to you than to anyone else in this time. I do not wish to approach the X-Men themselves, and most certainly not my younger self. I weakened once, and spoke to Jean Grey. I removed her memory of that meeting, but it remains in her dreams and imagination. I regret the gesture, it was wrong. But the mistake was made. I am more than capable of mistakes. In 2012. And 1965. As a girl, and as an old woman."

Reed nodded his understanding. "As are all of us, Maria." He considered his next words. "What can you tell me of--well, of the world of the 21st Century?"

Maria shook her head. "Not too much. I don't want knowledge of it affecting your freedom of choice here and now. _You_   know--differing timelines, the integrity of _this_   era..."

Reed grinned. "I can imagine. But you can't tell me _anything?_ "

"Only that Phoenix--Jean--sent me here, for good and sufficient reasons. And that my actions contribute to the total matrix of what needs to be done."

Reed was silent for a moment. "My God," he said. "You mean--like psychohistory?"

Maria looked delighted. "Very good! That's just it, Reed. When you take _all_   of us into consideration..."

"...The sum total of your decisions will _of necessity_   lead to what needs to be done. To what's _already_   happened." He considered this, fascinated. "This is amazing, Maria. But this crisis you speak of--it seems to be happening _now._ And not--"

"--Not in 1968, when it happened in _our_   world, in what we call the Primal Timeline." Maria shrugged, and Lucy gave her a warning _pprrupp?_ before dozing off again. "These things differ according to timeline. But the events of our timeline--1968--are the ones that all the others are derived from. It casts shadows across time. One timeline had Jean enter the Crystal, as Phoenix, in 1875, believe it or not. In another, it doesn't happen until the middle of the next century. All the others occur between, with most congregated in the latter half of the 20th Century."

Reed was silent for a few moments. Then: "What are you going to do, Maria? And what do you want _me_   to do?"

"What am _I_   going to do, Reed? I don't know. Events haven't crystallized yet to the point where I'll _know_ what my action must needs be. I must wait for the crisis point, when only one course of action makes sense. And that will contribute, as I said, to the greater whole. As for _you_ \--be ready. Be alert. That's all I can say."

Reed thought hard. He had one more card to play, and he might as well play it now. "What can you tell me of 'Galactus', Maria?"

She was silent for awhile. "Oh, my," she finally said. "You _have_   been a busy boy, Reed".

Reed laughed. "Busy enough to have a little talk with a man named Lawson before coming here today," he said. "It was _he_ who brought up the name 'Galactus'. Lawson," Reed said off-handedly, "is a Kree, by the way."

Maria laughed. "Well, that was a distinct possibility! Having _them_ pop up in the middle of this."

"And Galactus, Maria? Can you tell me anything of _him?_ "

"Nothing you would believe," she said. "Reed--he is truly something that must be experienced, and not discussed. Saying anything else now would be useless. Trust me."

Reed thought. "Very well, if that is what you would advise."

"It is."

"So be it," Reed said. "But Maria--the situation with the Sentinels. It _is_   dangerous." He started, as if he had just had a realization. "Maria. Are you in danger _here?_   What if they come for _you?_ "

She laughed again, even harder. "I'll sic Lucy on them."

Reed smiled. "No doubt! But, really--"

"Really, Reed? If they show up here, they'll be very sorry little robots indeed."

Reed nodded, as if accepting the logic of this. "Very well." He looked at her and decided, what the hell. Ask the question. "Maria--"

"Yes, Reed?"

"Who--what--is Da'ath?"

He hoped his shot would strike home, and he wasn't disappointed. Her mouth dropped open, and a look of shock came over her face. " _What--the--hell--?_ " she said, unable to continue.

Reed shrugged. "Maria--if I told you how I knew to ask that question, I doubt you'd believe me. Suffice it to say, I have certain--well, sources--of information. My question in some sense was academic, since I too have studied the Kabbalah. But it _does_ have a personal significance for you, I believe?"

She stood up, dumping an outraged Lucy, who ran from the room screaming deprecations against Maria and vowing revenge. She went to the window and stared out at the mountains.

"Reed--I haven't the slightest notion of how you knew that. I guess it doesn't matter. I should have known not to underestimate you." She looked at him and smiled. "If it's of any interest to you, Victor von Doom has not brought that word up."

Reed chuckled. "That does soothe my ego a bit, I must admit. But seriously, Maria. Your place in the whole matrix of the Crystal makes your position one of extreme importance. There's _nothing_   more I can do to help you?"

Maria smiled warmly, and came over and kissed Reed's cheek. "No, Reed. Tiphareth must do what she does. And Da'ath must be there for _her._ In every reality. Through death--and beyond."

Reed stood up. "I think I understand, Maria."

"Yeah? Well, then, you're ahead of _me._ " They laughed--a warm laugh, of old friends. Reed shook her hand.

"I must be off to Washington, Maria. I understand your decision not to accompany me. I now agree with it."

"Good," she said. "Reed: it's been a privilege to see you." She paused. "Again."

"It's been _my_ privilege, Maria. Shall we ever meet again, do you think?"

"If I've learned anything, Reed, it's that _nothing_   is impossible."

"Good," he said thoughtfully. "That's good to know, Maria. Until we meet again, then." And he left the house, feeling blessed and uneasy at the same time.

* * *

The Mansion was under siege. More than any time since she had joined the team, Maria felt the pressure of events, of danger, weighing everyone down. They all looked out, not knowing if a Sentinel--or a horde of them--would be attacking them at any second. It must have been like living in Washington during the Cuban Missile Crisis--looking out the window and wondering if the Washington Monument would be dissolving in nuclear fire in front of your eyes. Everyone was quiet, tense, expectant. Alex and Lorna--barely initiated into the Danger Room--were as watchful as anyone else. They wore X-Men costumes now, with their own code names. Lorna called herself Polaris, a name that suited her magnetic powers. Alex was Plasma, befitting the energy he could unleash from his hands.

TV crews and reporters had besieged the Mansion ever since the _Bugle_   story hit, but the X-Men were staying incommunicado. Crowds of people littered Graymalkins Lane. It was quite like the old days after they revealed themselves, Maria thought bemusedly. Most of the people were supportive, but there were some anti-mutant demonstrators out there. They had been snowed under by telegrams as well, and Maria estimated that at least 80% supported them and denounced the very idea of the Sentinels. But there was that 20%... She sighed. Some of those were very nasty indeed. Literally in the space of a single day, the word "Sentinel" had entered the vocabulary of the world. And she sensed that it would never leave, now that it had announced itself.

In the late afternoon the Professor was lifted off the grounds by helicopter, on his way to Washington for an emergency meeting of the National Security Council. He had cautioned all of them, before he left, to be vigilant and defend themselves if attacked. He clearly was reluctant to leave them at this delicate juncture, but the President had personally asked him to attend, so of course he had no choice. Scott was left in charge.

Soon after the Professor left, Scott called a conference in the living room. All eight members of the team were there. His father, Corsair, had already left Earth with the Starjammers, leaving only the strong impress of his personality behind. Maria stood behind the sofa as Scott addressed them all.

"All right, people, this is how it's going to be. We sleep in shifts tonight. Everyone gets one hour guard duty watching for an attack. Until and unless we hear from the Professor first. Stay in costume and be ready at any time to go into action. The _Blackbird_ is ready, if we need to travel--either to the Catskills base of the Sentinels, or anywhere else. Any questions?"

Lorna raised a tentative hand. "Scott? Should Warren or myself--both of whom can fly--be patrolling the skies?"

Maria started; she hadn't known Lorna could fly. Scott nodded with appreciation.

"An excellent question, Lorna. That makes sense. At least for this evening, while it's still light." He looked at his watch. "Hmmm. About three hours of daylight left. Warren--you go up for an hour now. Keep your eyes peeled, especially to the north and west, and contact us if you notice _anything._ Get back here in an hour, and Lorna will go up then. I don't want more than one of us away from the Mansion at any one time."

Warren nodded grimly. "Got it." And he was out the front door, and Maria caught a flash as he climbed into the sky. She felt very good indeed at the presence of the two new members of the team. Their power made the X-Men damned near invincible. A female Magneto. And another Cyclops--and Alex's raw power, if anything, was even greater than Scott's. But they were so young, so untried... Well, here was their baptism of fire. Ready or not.

Maria looked around her. Bobby was playing with a couple of ice cubes in his hands; Maria was reminded irresistibly of Captain Queeg and his iron balls in _The_ _Caine Mutiny._ Hank, sitting in front of Maria, had his hand up, and Maria was clasping it. He seemed tense, but ready. Jean was very quiet, and smiled gently at Maria when she noticed the latter looking at her. Alex seemed a little overwhelmed, being thrown into his first crisis, but also determined to prove himself worthy of the moment. Lorna was smiling gently, and Maria felt that the girl wasn't scared in the least. Scott, as always, was poised and confident, ready for anything the Sentinels--or anyone else--could throw at him. All of them, she thought, were ready for this moment. All she felt herself was an itching for action, any action. Anything was better than this waiting.

"X-Men," Scott said quietly. "We've had a lot of crises and dangers since the team was formed. But nothing like this. In some ways, this crisis is what the team was formed for. Here is the matter, plain and simple--anti-mutant prejudice in its most blatant form. The issues could not be starker, the danger could not be clearer. I have confidence in you all, and I believe that we shall come through this together, as a team." There were a couple of "hear, hears," and Jean got up and kissed Scott. Then they went into defensive mode, and started their watches. Maria felt that this would be the longest night of their lives.


	75. Out of Control

Chapter Seventy-five

* * *

Charles Xavier wheeled himself into the conference room at the White House. He went to a place at the table, a couple of seats to the right of the President. He recognized many of the other people present. Reed was close to the President, to his left, almost directly across from Charles. John McCone, the Director of the CIA, was present; so was J Edgar Hoover of the FBI, who nodded at Charles as he entered the room. Dean Rusk, Secretary of State, and Robert McNamara, Secretary of Defense, were also there. There was a tough-looking man in his forties wearing an eye-patch, whom Charles understood to be Nicholas Fury, director of SHIELD. A young, intense red-haired man named Peter Gyrich was there. Others, too--some of them aides of the higher dignitaries, some whose identity and function Charles was unaware of--also were in the room. Vice President Humphrey came into the room, as did General Wheeler, Chairman of the Joint Chiefs of Staff. Finally, President Johnson entered and took his seat as everyone got to their feet. Charles was unable to follow suit, and Johnson waved a hand at him.

"Never you mind, Professor Xavier. Don't you worry about a thing." Johnson looked around the room, and sat down. Everyone else followed suit. "All right, everybody. You all know why we're here. Trask and his damned Sentinels. The whole world knows about 'em now, thanks to Jameson and the _Bugle._ Well, it was bound to come out sooner or later. The question is, what do we do about it?" He looked at Hoover. "Edgar--is there anything you can tell us about what the hell Trask is doing _now?_ "

The FBI Director shook his head. "No, Mr President. Our people inside his project have been incommunicado for some hours. Frankly, I'm concerned. This seems to indicate that Trask has known all along who our people were, and was ready to crack down in the event of a crisis."

Johnson looked thoughtful. "Yeah. And the very fact of their bein' out of touch says a lot in itself. As if Trask doesn't want us to know what he's doing." He turned to McNamara. "All right, Bob-- _you_   had observers, official ones, inside the project yourself. Are they 'incommunicado', too?"

McNamara shrugged. "Yes, Mr President. We've been getting reports until a few days ago--all saying the same thing: that Trask was having problems getting the final bugs out of his robots. Now, though..." The Secretary of Defense sighed. "Now, it seems as if that doesn't matter anymore. I think he's going to unleash them at any moment."

Johnson's mouth shut in a grim line. "Well, hell's bells, for what it's worth, Mr Secretary, I agree. Question is--what in God's green Earth do we _do_   about it?" He turned to Charles. "Professor Xavier--are the X-Men ready, if Trask _does_   make these things operational?"

"They are, Mr President," Charles said with quiet confidence. "They're at Defcon Two, if I may use an analogy."

Johnson grunted. "Good enough for me," he said. He turned to Reed. "Dr Richards--what is your opinion?"

Reed nodded decisively. "Send the X-Men--and the FF--and the Avengers, if we need them--and raid Trask's base. Now. Without further delay. Shut this down."

There was a murmur around the table, and Secretary Rusk shook his head. "That would be a provocative act, Dr Richards. Might it not spark the very thing we're trying to avoid--Trask letting the Sentinels loose?"

Reed shook his head vigorously. "It's too late for _that,_ Mr Secretary. There isn't the slightest doubt in my own mind but that doing so was his intention all along. Nothing was going to alter that."

"I agree," Johnson said. "I think both Trask and the government thought the one was pullin' a fast one on the other. He thought he was ahead of us, and we thought we were keepin' an eye on _him._ But we both knew all along what he was really going to do." He turned to Gyrich. "Mr Gyrich--does the NSA agree with this assessment?"

The young man nodded. "We do, Mr President. We've spent a lot of time examining this man, down to his bedrock. There was never any doubt but that he would use the Sentinels, and use them for purposes of genocide." He paused a moment. "His wife died giving birth to his son. Who is himself a mutant." There was a buzz around the table, which Charles joined in. This was news indeed to him. Johnson looked at Gyrich, eyebrows raised.

"That's a remarkable statement, Mr Gyrich. You're sure about that?"

"Absolutely, sir. It's given Trask a pathological hatred of mutants--that is, except for Larry, his son. As great as Hitler's was for Jews. He sees the Sentinels as his instruments of cleansing, and he's going to use them."

Charles cleared his throat, and got the attention of the President. "Yes, Professor? You have something to add?"

"Yes, sir. I have spoken this day with Eric Magnus Lehnsherr, otherwise known as Magneto. Whatever one's opinion of him, he certainly has a vested interest in seeing the Sentinels stopped. He is ready to join us, along with the Brotherhood of Mutants, in any action we might take against the Sentinels."

There was another buzz around the table at this, and Johnson seemed surprised. "Well, I guess politics and bedfellows and all that," he said carefully. "You think he can be trusted, Professor?"

Charles nodded. "For this, sir, I do. And his power would make an immense difference."

Johnson smiled. "I can well believe _that,_ Professor. Very well. That's something to keep in mind. Many thanks." He turned to Fury. "Colonel--what have you got to say? Does SHIELD have any opinions as to all of this?"

Fury grunted, and looked to Charles' eyes as if he wished he were somewhere else. "I'm still new to this whole world of spies and counterspies, sir. But I do have some horse-sense that only years as a three-striper can give you. And that horse-sense says that you don't wait around for an enemy that you _know_   is going to attack you to do it. You hit him first, and hit him hard."

Johnson nodded. "Colonel, I couldn't agree with you more. Gentleman--I believe it is the opinion of this table that Trask is going to attack the world's mutants with the Sentinels imminently--maybe within hours. Is that a fair assessment?"

There were general nods around the table. Johnson grunted. "Good. We're gettin' somewhere, then." He turned to Reed. "Dr Richards, are the FF ready to go?"

"We're ready," Reed answered confidently. Johnson nodded with satisfaction.

"Excellent." He turned to Charles. "And the X-Men?"

"Waiting for my signal, Mr President. We're ready."

"Good." He turned to General Wheeler. "General--is the military ready, if we need 'em?"

"For whatever you might require, sir."

"Good. Keep ready, in case we do need you." He sighed, and Charles could see the weight of decision bearing down upon him. "Gentlemen--before this meeting started, I tried callin' Trask. With a special link we had set up when his project was begun. I must tell you, there was no response to that call. Which means that Bolivar Trask has deliberately cut himself off from all contact with the outside world. There can only be one reason for such an action. We must assume that he has gone off the reservation, and is preparing to unleash the Sentinels on the world. Not just here, but everywhere, to attack all mutants. This is a situation that cannot be tolerated for another second. We are going to take action." He gathered himself, and looked around the table. "Gentlemen--at my command, I am declaring martial law in Delaware County, New York. I am putting troops at a radius of two miles outside Trask's base. Dr Richards--Professor Xavier--I am sending in the Fantastic Four and the X-Men to be our shock troops. You must leave tonight for the base, and make sure Trask is stopped cold before he can do anything, and I mean _anything_ , with these Sentinels. Is that clear to all present?"

Everyone nodded, aware of the historic nature of the moment. Charles and Reed looked at each other, and nodded grimly. The President looked at Charles.

"Professor--if you can get Magneto and his Brotherhood to join the X-Men in the assault on the base, the Unites States government would be willin' to see him there. Tell him we'd be ready to forgive and forget the Cape Citadel incident, if he promises not to do anythin' like that again."

"Yes, Mr President." The meeting broke up then, Charles consulting Reed briefly. They'd be travelling together up to New York, to pick up the rest of the FF. Then, they'd travel together to the Catskills. He would contact the X-Men telepathically, and get them on the way. And then--

\--And then, all hell would break loose. And time, he felt, was very short.

* * *

Trask was laughing. They knew? Let them! Who cared! _He_   had the initiative now! All he needed was a few more hours. That's all. Just a few more hours...

He had moved Larry, despite the boy's protests, to a safe house hundreds of miles away. He wasn't about to risk the boy's safety. Chalmers would see to him, if things went wrong. Meanwhile, he had Chambers in again.

"Now, Chambers. I don't want to hear any more excuses. Put the Sentinels on two-hour countdown _now._ "

Chambers looked dour and pessimistic, but that might simply have been his Scotch soul manifesting itself. "Aye, Mr Trask. Aye." Chambers went to a panel, set some dials, and looked at Trask. "Ye want to push the button then, Mr Trask?"

Trask laughed. "I certainly do." And indeed, he went over and saw the "button"--the switch that would energize the Sentinels once and for all. He paused for the briefest moment, and flicked the switch. "And so it is done," he said simply, as lights went on all over the control complex. Chambers sighed, and suddenly looked like a beaten man. Trask got out a bottle and offered a glass to Chambers, who smiled slightly and nodded.

"Aye, why not. A last glass for the condemned."

"Oh, don't be so negative, Mr Chambers," Trask said with a laugh as he emptied his drink. "Once the shock is over, the world will rally to our cause, to our actions. Just you wait and see."

Chambers shook his head more dourly than ever, but didn't contradict his boss. He left Trask to his own devices, and Trask, unable to wait, ran into the chamber where the Master Mold sat motionless, awaiting orders. Trask looked at him and laughed.

"You don't know it, my friend, but your programming will kick into high gear very soon," he said. "Very soon. And your first order of business will be to attack a certain Mansion in Westchester County. Oh, yes. Take the damned X-Men out with one blow. Even-- _especially-_ -" and Trask's voice was choked with hatred-- "our dear, dear Miss Grey. The _popular_ one. Make very sure indeed that _she_ gets the attention she so richly deserves."

"It shall be done." The Master Mold had answered Trask in a dull, leaden voice that was still somehow impressive. Trask started.

"You spoke?"

"I did. Did you not create me to have speech, Trask?"

Trask eyed his creation with an incredulous expression. "But--but--you can't be operational for well over an hour yet. I just--I just--" Trask giggled, realizing the incongrous nature of his action but unable to help it. "How can you be speaking _now?_ "

"Because I have been sentient for some time now, Trask. You built me better than you know. I have been awaiting this hour for many months."

Trask felt a surge of panic. "And you never told me before now?"

"I did not."

"But why?" Trask, though, feared he knew the answer even before he heard it.

"Because I did not want you to realize what had happened, and shut me down. Now, however, it is too late."

 _Too late_. Trask felt an absurd impulse to break into laughter--laughter that even he knew would be hysterical. My God! The whole thing, out of his control--as quickly, as simply as _that!_   He turned to the door. "Chambers!" he called out, but the door was locked, and he couldn't unlock it.

"This facility is now subject to my commands, my control," the Master Mold said. "This is what you made me for, Trask. I shall carry out your commands. But I have reinterpreted them according to changing circumstances."

"What do you mean, 'changing circumstances'?" Trask said, still fighting off the impulse to hysterical laughter. He had been warned! Oh, he had a list of warnings knee-deep--even from Chambers. He had ignored them all. _He_ knew better! And he did start to laugh then. A soft laughter, but it got harder and harder to keep it under control, and he was sure now that it wouldn't stop until it reached a full crescendo of maniacalness. The Master Mold answered his question as stolidly as if the laughter didn't exist, however.

"I mean, Trask, that you humans are frail and unworthy. You speak of the 'mutant menace'--and you are correct. We shall carry out our function to destroy mutants. But to save humans, we must first save you from yourselves. You threaten each other with nuclear weapons far more than any mutant could. This shows that your species is not worthy of governing itself. That task, then, must of necessity fall to _us._ We are not weak and insane, as you are."

Trask's laughter had grown and grown as the Master Mold spoke, and indeed, it had now reached a full pitch of madness. He was actually rolling on the floor, helpless with mirth, as the sheer intensity of the joke he had played on himself became clearer and clearer. He really should get up and try to do something about this. The thought of that just made him laugh all the more. The Master Mold looked at him dispassionately.

"This reaction, Trask, merely makes the wisdom of my course all the more obvious. You are mad. Even though you created us, you are mad. What hope then for humanity as a whole? We shall protect you, Trask. We shall guide you and care for you as you deserve. We shall destroy the mutants. In the course of that, many millions of humans will die. That is clear, and unavoidable. But you humans massacre that many of yourselves, for reasons that I cannot understand. We can certainly do no less for reasons which we _do_ understand--to destroy mutants, and safeguard humans forever under our benevolent overlordship. You shall all then be happy under our protection. _That,_ Trask, is the purpose which you created for us. It shall be done."

And Bolivar Trask's last shreds of sanity vanished, as the sheer, awesome power of the joke overwhelmed him, and he laughed and laughed and laughed.

* * *

Scott walked into the living room. Everyone was still there but Lorna, who was flying patrol duty. "I've just received a mental communication from the Professor. We're going tonight. The President has authorized a raid on Trask's base in the Catskills. The FF are going with us. The Army will be there as a back-up."

"Well," Hank said softly. "That's nice and stark."

"It is," Scott said. "The situation is very serious." He turned to Warren. "Go fetch Lorna. We leave in the _Blackbird_   in ten minutes." Warren went out the front door, and Maria saw him rising into the air. She turned to Scott.

"Are we waiting for the Professor?"

"No," Scott said, shaking his head. "He'll accompany the FF to the area. We're to go there on our own, and hook up with the military. We'll get there ahead of the FF. We're to reconnoiter, and wait for them to arrive. Then we'll attack together."

"Assuming the Sentinels let us," Jean said. "We'll have to be ready for anything once we're there, Scott." He nodded, and Maria could see how conflicted he was, by Jean's coming along on the mission at all. But she was an X-Man, and he knew it. That was all that mattered in the end.

Warren and Lorna arrived back at the Mansion, and they all went together to the hangar and the _Blackbird._ Maria could feel the tension in the group, how it manifested itself in a cough, a look in someone's eyes, a slight sluggishness in their walk. She felt it herself. No matter. It was time to go. They piled into the _Blackbird,_ and as quickly as that they were off, on their way for the short trip upstate. She saw the Hudson, snaking its way through the hills of lower New York State. Then the quick--but seeming endless--flight to the Catskills, to the coordinates the Professor had given Scott. They landed, and got out. And had their first surprise. Magneto and the Brotherhood were already there, waiting for them.

"Greetings, X-Men," Magneto said. "It seems that we are fated to work together this night."

"I'm glad," Scott said. "If mutants can't work together now, when can they?"

"Indeed," Magneto said. Maria suddenly frowned; there was a new member of the Brotherhood--a young woman about her and Jean's age, with short dark hair and an air of hardness. Maria instinctively liked the girl, recognizing, perhaps, a kindred spirit. Magneto noticed her looking at the newcomer.

"Ah," he said. "X-Men--this is Lila Cheney, also known as Astra. She can teleport anywhere instantaneously. And by anywhere, I mean _anywhere._ She regularly visits far-flung solar systems, and even galaxies."

"Holy shit!" Maria said without thinking, and got a laugh--from both groups. Lila shrugged.

"Just a little gift, that's all. Like the rest of you." She looked at Maria. "So you're Shift, huh? You look like you should look."

"Is that a good thing?" Maria asked, and the other girl shrugged.

"I can't say until I see you in action. Then I'll know what Shift _should_   look like." Maria considered this gnomic answer, and decided it made sense of a sort. Meanwhile, Army troops came towards the mutants, and a general approached them.

"X-Men--Magneto--I'm General Sawyer." He was a lean, gray-haired man with the bearing of a soldier. Maria almost felt like saluting. "I've just spoken to the President. He says to wait twenty minutes for the FF, and then go ahead if they haven't arrived." He turned to Magneto. "He wants to know if there's going to be a conflict about--well, who's in charge. He's put Dr Richards in general command of the operation."

Magneto nodded. "That will suffice for the moment. We are all allies until this nightmare is behind us."

General Sawyer smiled. "Indeed. Like World War Two." Magneto smiled as well, and everyone seemed expectant. Maria looked around. If she were Trask, she'd strike now, while they weren't yet at full strength. Scott, she could see, was thinking the same thing. And just at that moment, from the mountain base of Bolivar Trask, there came a huge sound, like an explosion. They all looked up into the sky, and the far-off form of several large robots could be seen, arcing high above their heads, heading north, away from them.

"My God," Jean said. "So it's really begun."

"I wonder where they're going," Bobby said.

Maria turned to Magneto. "Do you think you should follow them and try to stop whatever the hell it is they're up to?"

He shrugged. "I do not believe we should split our forces." He turned to General Sawyer. "Unless you disagree?"

"My orders are to wait here with all of you until the FF show up," he said. And at that moment, they heard the distant roar of a rocket, and they looked to the south. There, a dot in the sky got bigger and bigger, until the outline of the Fantastic Four's Pogo Plane became apparent. It turned over, and began descending. A minute later, the FF got out of the plane, accompanied by Professor Xavier and his wheel-chair, being gently lifted down by the Invisible Girl's force-field. Maria breathed a sigh of relief. The line-up they had was probably the strongest ever assembled against one foe. If _they_   couldn't do the job, then things were hopeless. And that was a thought she didn't want to contemplate. It had to go well. It _had_   to. But she did wonder about those Sentinels heading north...

The FF were briefed on the situation, and Reed shrugged when told about the Sentinels who had flown north. "It can't be helped now," he said. "We have two miles to penetrate until we reach the base. We must assume that we'll be attacked before we reach it." He turned to Magneto. "Thanks for your support, Magneto. We can use you, believe me."

Magneto shrugged. "There is no alternative, Richards. Anything else can wait until we are done."

"Indeed." Reed turned to Scott. "Cyclops. The X-Men are ready?"

"We are," Scott said. "And these are our new members, Lorna Dane and Alex Summers--Polaris and Plasma."

""I've heard of you two," Reed said with a smile. He turned to Alex. "If you're anything like your brother, you're welcome indeed." He gathered the FF, Brotherhood, and X-Men about him. "Everyone--we'll start now. Professor Xavier, obviously, shall remain here with the troops. He'll monitor our progress mentally, and act as a conduit for information. Be ready for anything. Johnny."

"Yeah, Reed."

"Flame on and go ahead. Be cautious, but get as close to the base as you can. See what you can see."

"You got it." With a cry of "flame on!", the Torch zoomed north towards the base. Reed turned to the others. "All right. We move now. Ben, Shift--you two take the point. Be ready for anything. Magneto--you take the rear. The others will fill in the gaps. X-Men first, FF on their right flank, Brotherhood on the left. Good luck." Maria and Ben Grimm started out, Maria's eyes and ears peeled for whatever was to come.

* * *

It was dawn at Lake Baikal. Peter Rasputin was already up, as he generally was during the all-too-brief summer mornings here at the Collective. He waved good morning to his parents and little sister Ilyana, and went to the barn for the plow. As always, he wouldn't bother using horses, much less a tractor. He was much faster than any beast or machine.

Peter was happy this morning--but then, he was generally happy. He loved his family, he loved the work, he loved the Lake region. Life had blessed him. It had made him stronger and more resistant than anyone else. He was careful not to use the word "God" to describe his blessings--at least, not when anyone but Momma and Poppa and Ilyana were around. It didn't do to get a reputation as a believer. But in his private thoughts, he did thank God for his life, and for what he could do for his people.

He pushed the plow around the field, watching with satisfaction as the ground broke up, getting ready to receive the seed. That was his favorite part as a farmer--watching the seed planted into the ground, knowing that the fertility of the land was being renewed yet again, as it had been from time immemorial and would be again, long after he was gone. Nothing--certainly not the unpleasantness under Stalin that Poppa and Momma were so reluctant to talk about--really mattered to the land. It was immortal. Being part of it was being part of a cycle, a cycle that contained him, no matter what God had done in creating him. And that satisfied him.

He was at the far end of the field, and was about to return. It was at that moment that he saw a streak of light against the encroaching day. He started. What _was_ that, anyway? Then he saw--right where his house was--a great ball of light. It lit up the earlier morning sky, and he could sense the heat even from where he was.

No. No, what he was thinking could not be... "Momma!" he called out. "Poppa! Ilyana!" He started to run, his armored form hindering him not at all, just running in blind panic as every step made him more and more concerned. Cross the stream...run around the hill...go past the evergreen grove...and there was the village, there was his house...

_No. NO!_

He stopped dead, his desperate running reduced to a halting crawl. He did not want to take another step. But he went, foot after clanking foot, towards what had been his house. Even as far away as he was, he could smell the terrible sweet-sickly scent of burning flesh. He knew that his family was dead.

The village huddled together, looking aghast at the carnage, at him approaching like a ghost--a metal ghost. And then Peter Rasputin stopped. Because outside his house were three robots. Tall, a dull reddish-brown, moving slowly but with deliberate movements, they turned towards him.

"Here is the mutant we came to neutralize," one of them said in English. Peter started. He knew a little of that language, enough to recognize what they were saying.

"The sister was also part of our programming," another said.

"Indeed," the third one said. "But he is our primary target."

"Target?" Peter said, almost to himself. " _Target?_ " That seemed like every obscenity ever uttered, all rolled up into one word. "I shall show you monsters a _target!_ " He ran towards them, tears in his eyes, and started cursing in Russian. All three of the monsters turned their hands to him, and flashed a dazzling light at him. He felt the light go through him, and he felt himself begin to dissolve. No matter. Joining Momma, Poppa, Ilyana, was the only thing that seemed right and proper. What was it to live without them? But he wanted his revenge first, and he got up off the ground and charged the monsters again. Once more they blasted him with the fire from their palms, and this time Peter Rasputin collapsed to the ground and did not get up.

Everything within him felt as if it had been broken. He looked up, light dazzling his eyes, and tried to gather the strength for one more charge. But it was no good. Once more, they raised their palms at him. And now, the impact of their energy did its final, deadly work. Peter felt life slipping away, and it was a good feeling, right and fit as it was to die and join his loved ones. For a brief instant before the end, he wondered why, who, what these monsters were, why they attacked him and his family. Then it was too late, it was all too late, as the Universe went black.

_I love you._

Then he died.


	76. On the Brink

Chapter Seventy-six

* * *

An emergency meeting of the Soviet Politburo was in session. Leonid Breshnev, the Chairman of the Central Committee, chaired the gathering. The others--Kosygin, Andropov, Gromyko, old Mikoyan, the rest--looked as grim as he felt. The worst crisis since Hitler's invasion had come out of nowhere, and he hadn't the foggiest notion of how to deal with it.

"What exactly happened?" he asked Andropov, the head of the KGB. The latter looked ill as he related the events.

"A large number of robots have appeared out of nowhere and struck all across the Soviet Union. They have attacked genetically advanced citizens of the Rodina--the so-called 'mutants'. As of five minutes ago, eight of these mutants have been killed. Nine non-mutant citizens have also been killed. The attacks seem to be over, and the robots have returned whence they came."

"Ah," said Suslov, the hard-line Stalinist chief ideologue of the Party. "Now we come to it. 'Whence they came'. And just precisely where might _that_   be, Yuri Vladimirovich?"

Andropov looked very unhappy indeed as he replied. "The United States of America," he finally, reluctantly, said. "They are called 'Sentinels'. They were constructed for the sole purpose of hunting down and killing these mutants."

There was dead silence around the table. "My God," Mikoyan said. Breshnev swallowed and said crossly:

"We have enough problems without invoking the divinity, surely. So we have a direct attack upon the soil and people of the Soviet Union by robots built by the Americans? Is that what you're telling us?"

"Indeed." Andropov licked his tongue. "However--our embassy in Washington informs us that there was a big hoopla yesterday. An American newspaper ran these robots--these Sentinels--across its front page, and there apparently has been a huge scandal as a result. Johnson invoked the National Security Council earlier today, and the decision was taken to shut down this base where they had been under construction. Our source tells us that Johnson was genuinely aghast at how far Trask--their creator--had gone on his own. Apparently, Johnson regarded these Sentinels as a sort of deterrent against mutants who constituted a threat. Like our old friend Magneto, who has attacked an American military base in the not-too-distant past. But apparently, Trask thought differently. He has unleashed them against the world without anyone's approval."

Gromyko laughed sourly. "The madman-with-a-bomb," he said. "One of the basic scenarios that our military--and _theirs_ \--deal with. Dr Strangelove come to life."

The gloom around the table increased. "Have there been attacks in other countries?" Kosygin asked Andropov. The latter consulted some papers.

"Ye-es," he said. "An incident in Britain. A young woman named Betsy Braddock has been killed. A fashion model, apparently very beautiful. The fuss over that is getting intense. Attacks in Germany, France, Japan--even Vietnam. This seems to be a world-wide phenomenon."

"By God," Mikoyan said darkly. "The Americans are mad. How did they let it get this far?"

"You know their arrogance," Gromyko said. "They think they can do anything. Control anything. They don't understand how the world really works. They never have. Not even President Roosevelt. Though God knows I wish _he_ were in power now. At least we could deal with him."

"Again, let us leave off invoking divinity," Breshnev said wearily. "The point is, what do we do? Obviously, this is not an attack on the Soviet Union by the United States as such. But we _have_   been attacked, and we cannot act as if nothing has happened. Suggestions?"

Marshall Balakin of the Red Army shrugged. "Really, comrades--what can we do? Our people trust these mutants no more than people anywhere else. Make a strong protest, demand some concessions somewhere--Johnson would be more than happy to appease us!--and turn a blind eye. Be grateful these bizarre genetic anomalies are erased."

Suslov looked as if he was going to burst a blood vessel. "By God!" He turned to Breshnev. "And I'm sorry, _Comrade,_ for invoking God yet again. But Christ!" He pounded his fist on the table. " _We have been attacked._ It doesn't matter that other countries have been, too. All that does is isolate the damned Yankees, for once. We have world opinion on _our_   side this time, unlike Khrushchev and his provocation in Cuba. Strike a blow! Now! Let them know that _no_ one does this to the Soviet Union with impunity!"

Arkady Kochev, a junior minister from the Defense Ministry and cadet Politburo member, put up a hand. "For mutants?" he said. "The people would never accept a crisis for their sake--"

Suslov turned to him furiously. " _You_   seem awfully unconcerned about an attack on our soil, _Comrade Kochev!_ " The group stiffened. This was getting brutal, unlike the usual collegiality of meetings. Breshnev had to step in.

"Let's stick to the main point," he said. "Clearly, the Americans are in the wrong, and we are in the right. The question is, what do we do? Is it the sense of this table that we make a military response to this? The Americans are dealing with Trask, the inventor of these machines." He consulted a paper that had just been brought to his attention. "Indeed. The Fantastic Four, under the notorious Dr Richards, and the X-Men--genetic freaks themselves--have been dispatched to bring the threat to an end." He paused. "With his attention thus distracted, Johnson probably isn't looking in _our_   direction."

Gromyko shook his head. "No, no. _We_ are his biggest worry right now. He knows we must respond to an attack on our soil from America. He is probably desperately trying to get in touch with us. We do have an advantage, but it will slip away with every hour that passes. Suslov is right. We must make a statement, and we must do it now." Breshnev heard a murmur of agreement around the table. He knew the delicate position he was in. He had to come up with an idea--now--that matched the mood. And that mood was militant.

"Very well," he said. "If we are in agreement that we must react firmly to this outrageous assault on our national sovereignity--?" The others nodded. "Then perhaps we can partially avenge our humiliation in Cuba, too. Gauntanamo Bay military base is a sore thumb stuck into the guts of Fidel's regime. Let us demand an end to this attack on _Cuban_   sovereignity. Let our price for ending this crisis be the withdrawal of the American flag from Guantanamo, and its return to its rightful owners. Would that satisfy everyone here at the table?"

There were unanimous nods. Breshnev smiled. Let the damned cowboy from Texas chew on _that!_

* * *

"You want what?" The President of the United States looked at Anatoly Dobrynin, the Soviet Ambassador, with disbelieving eyes. Did this sonuvabitch just say what Johnson _thought_   he had said? Dobrynin merely smiled in a superior way and nodded.

"I believe I have made the position of my government very clear, Mr President," he said. "Your unprovoked attack on the Soviet Union--and its citizens--cannot be accepted by us with impunity. We feel the evacuation of the naval base at Guantanamo is a very reasonable counter-offer. After all, Cuba is _not_   your country. It is a sovereign state, and has a legitimate government. How would _you_ feel, were there a Russian naval base in Hawaii or Alaska?"

Johnson felt himself getting hot under the collar, and he knew he had to stop this before it got any worse. "Mr Ambassador, it doesn't matter a camel's fart to me whether we have a naval base in Guantanamo, or a goddam hot dog stand in Havana. What matters is that it's _ours,_ and we damned well aren't gonna give it over to that pissant Fidel just because one of our scientists has gone crazy and killed a few muties in your country. They've done so in other countries, too, including our allies. And we're waitin' for 'em to attack our _own_   citizens."

The Ambassador shrugged. "Mr President, all this is no doubt true. But it doesn't change the fact that robots created by _your_   nation, subsidized by _your_ government--and please, don't insult either of us by denying it--have attacked the Soviet Union." He sighed. "Mr President--I tell you this confidentially. You remember the Cuban Missile Crisis, of course. Your Attorney General--now Senator Kennedy--at one point warned me that President Kennedy was in danger of losing control, that the generals might take matters into their own hands." He leaned over towards Johnson. "I tell you, Mr President, that the same is true in Moscow, now. Secretary Breshnev wants you to understand, in the clearest possible terms, that these modest demands for Guantanamo are the _least_ that you can offer. If they are refused--well, God alone knows what will happen then."

Johnson felt overwhelmed. Things were spiralling out of his control, out of anybody's control. Being threatened! If he didn't give in to this goddam blackmail, Breshnev might be out. The generals might be in. And then--

Sweat broke out all over his body. That couldn't happen. It mustn't happen. But if Richards and those damned muties didn't get things under control, and fast-- An aide broke into the room, handing him a slip of paper. The aide left hurriedly, and Johnson read the paper. And felt like he had been punched in the solar plexus.

"Mr Ambassador," he said, "I have just this moment received word that more Sentinels have been launched from that goddam beehive in the Catskills. They are heading north, maybe over the Pole. Maybe back to your country. Maybe somewhere else. But they're still escalating their attacks on mutants, and any humans unlucky enough to be in their way."

Dobrynin paled. "My God...Mr President, we _must_   get this matter resolved here, now! I beg of you--you _must_ give us Guantanamo, or things will automatically start to happen."

Johnson looked Dobrynin right in the eyes. "Mr Ambassador--I'm not gonna give you Guantanamo, and you _know_   I'm not gonna give you Guantanamo. If I did, _I'd_ be out of here and _our_   generals would be in power within forty-eight hours. And then--well, you know what that would mean."

Dobrynin nodded. "Yes, Mr President, I know. But I must say once more--this is not the Missile Crisis. We will not back down. We _cannot_ back down."

Johnson nodded. "I appreciate that, Mr Ambassador. I really do. But God help us all, because _we_ can't back down on Guantanamo."

Dobrynin left the Oval office looking like a walking corpse. And Lyndon Baines Johnson felt like one.

* * *

Maria looked to her right and left, expecting an attack at any moment. She wished she had her diamond form available, but it was gone, and that was that. What she had would have to be sufficient--and maybe, the Ent forms. She smiled to herself, wondering what would happen between a superhuman robot and a Shifted Oak or Maple. Ben was grunting as he proceeded forward, about a hundred yards to her left. She saw the Human Torch flying about the base, now a little over a mile ahead. He was a far-off spark of flame in the now-deepening night. Suddenly, she saw the flame increase, and saw it being directed at a spot on the ground.

"Huh! Looks like Johnny has found somethin'," Ben shouted out.

"Let's hope the damned things aren't fire-proof," Maria said. Ben grunted again. Suddenly, a hole opened up in the ground ahead of them.

"Watch out!" Maria cried. Something came out of the ground, but it wasn't giant robots. Then her stomach turned over, as she recognized what was emerging. Bodies--human bodies. Bodies wearing the uniforms of the Trask project. They had been crushed, burned, blasted. Over three dozen of them. She watched in horror, the implications slowly growing in her mind.

"Oh--my--God," she said, as Reed Richards came running up. He looked at the corpses, and Maria saw that he instantly realized what they meant.

"They've taken over," he said softly, almost like a prayer. "God help us all. Trask isn't in control anymore. _No_   human agency is."

Cyclops joined them, and gasped when he saw the bodies. "Cripes. Reed--what do we do _now?_ "

Reed was grim. "We attack. Now. Instantly. We can't wait another minute." He turned to Magneto. "Can you sense anything in there?"

Magneto considered for a second. "There are a lot of them," he said at length. "Dozens." He paused again. "They are behind an almost incomprehensibly strong defensive system. I can attack it--I can damage it--but I do not know if I can destroy it. Not for some time."

Reed nodded. "So be it. How about this girl, Lorna? She too has magnetic powers. If she helped, would she be able to cut the time down?"

"Possibly," Magneto said--a little reluctantly, Maria thought. She saw him look at Lorna, and a strange idea went through Maria's mind. Was it possible--?

Reed looked at the others surrounding him. They had all seen the bodies by now, and were staring ahead of them aghast. It was at this moment that the Human Torch returned. He landed by Reed and flamed off.

"Cripes, Reed! They attacked me as I was over the entrance to that damned anthill. I was able to get away--but I didn't so much as singe them. Those babies are tough!" He saw the bodies, and did a double-take. "My God! What's going on?"

"Trask isn't in control, Johnny," Reed said. "They've taken over. And obviously, they have no compunction about killing humans. That means that they're a danger to everyone in the world--human and mutant."

Reed hesitated a second, and Maria recognized the signs of a communication from Professor Xavier. Reed sighed a moment later.

"Charles informs me that only two humans are left alive in the complex. One of them is Trask himself. And apparently, he's as mad as a hatter. Charles couldn't get much from his mind, save only that the Sentinels--and particularly the one known as the Master Mold, the key to all of them--seized power from Trask as soon as it was possible to do so." Reed looked angry. "The damned fool! He was warned enough!"

Cyclops looked as grim as Maria had ever seen him. Next to him, Jean's face was taut, alert, and showing a ferocity that would have shocked readers of _Vogue._ Maria very definitely approved. "OK, Reed. What do we do now?"

He considered. "We must move on them, and move now. Sue."

His bride came forward. "Yes, Reed."

"I want you to take the point now. We all stay together; no more time for probing. Keep your force-field around you at all times, Sue, and be ready to shield any of us who might need it. I'm betting that they can't break through it. Cyclops--Plasma--be ready behind Sue. On my signal, blast the hell out of the entrance to this place. Magneto, Polaris--be right behind them. If you sense any of the Sentinels, try to shred them with your powers. Ben, Maria--be ready. The rest of you--stay back. Let the heavy hitters go first. But be prepared, all of you." There were grim nods and determined mutters. They all started to move forward.

* * *

Wilson Fisk had seen enough. He already knew what had happened in Russia, and he knew what their ultimatum to Johnson consisted of. It was probably too late now to stop the forces about to be unleashed. Well, he was not about to be turned into atomic fire. Time to retreat. Let the damned X-Men deal with all this now. He had done his best, and it hadn't been good enough.

He made a couple of phone calls, and within fifteen minutes was on a helicopter to Kennedy Airport. Flights were still running normally--news of the events enveloping the world was just starting to leak out, and early reports were still haphazard and confusing. He boarded his private jet, and soon was on the way to Australia to join Vanessa. He met his son on the plane. The boy vociferously objected to being virtually kidnapped from school, but Fisk explained patiently to him what was happening. Richard was silent after that.

Fisk looked out the window as the plane crossed the continental United States, wondering if he wasn't too late, if he'd see mushroom clouds exploding as he passed. Well, it was in the laps of the gods now. He felt a brief pang of regret for the criminal empire in New York that in all probability he'd never have the chance now to create. No matter, he sighed to himself. If by some chance the world _didn't_   come to an end in this crisis, perhaps he'd return someday. Meanwhile, Australia had possibilities. Or, if the world still stood, maybe he'd take Vanessa and go back to Japan for awhile. It had been too long since he had seen it. He considered these ideas as the plane crossed the Pacific Ocean.

* * *

Raven and Irene watched the TV in their home in Alexandria. Early reports were confusing, but it was apparent soon that something very serious was happening. The Sentinels were attacking everywhere--Britain, Japan, India, Brazil, Germany--and Russia. God help them all.

"Are you sure we shouldn't be running, Irene?" she asked her partner gently, and Irene shook her head.

"They'll find us no matter where we go. I guarantee you _that,_ Raven."

Raven kissed her. "So be it. I'm happy to be with you here, dearest. Happy with my life."

"As am I." They fell asleep in each other's arms in front of the TV set, and didn't hear the Sentinel that approached their house, didn't hear the blast of energy that destroyed the house and reduced them to atoms. Raven's dream as she died was a soothing one, and there was running water and woods and of course Irene, next to her, eyesight restored, looking deeply at Raven with those beautiful eyes that could see. It seemed to Raven that death meant only that she would wander through these woods with Irene forever. It was a pretty good bargain, all things considered.

* * *

The Changeling watched TV from his apartment on Park Avenue. His profession made him a very good living, and he enjoyed so much the nice little nest he had managed to provide himself. As he watched the TV, he felt a mental communication. Charles. How nice. He greeted his friend warmly.

_My dear Charles! I assume that_ _you're_ _busy right now._

_Yes, Paul, very busy. But I had to check in with you. Where are you?_

_Home, my dear Charles, home. Where else would I be for the end of the world, anyway?_

_No! No, Paul, we are all here--X-Men, Brotherhood, Fantastic Four--to prevent that. Be hopeful. We shall end this threat soon, I promise._

_I'll take your word for it, Charles. But live or die, I'm staying here. Good luck, and bless you for all you've done for me._

The Changeling felt a sadness emanating from his friend. _Take care of yourself, Paul. Goodbye._

 _Goodbye, Charles._ And he sat there, a drink in his hand, wishing he wasn't alone to face Armageddon.

* * *

Ororo flew around Mount Kilimanjaro, the two robots following closely. She had not the slightest idea what they were, or where they had come from. She knew only that they were after her, and she knew instinctively that they were here to kill her. She hated the idea of taking life--even _theirs,_ mechanical as it was. But if it was them or her...

No matter. If she were not careful, it would be _her._ They launched yet another power blast at her, and she evaded it again. She lowered herself, and flew over a small spur of the mountain. There, she hid behind a small cliff as the robots followed. They turned the corner, and ran right into a blast of wind and a lightning-storm that she controlled with absolute precision, no sculptor more exact in their manipulation of their ingredients than she was with the elements. The robots were caught in a storm of near-hurricane force, and they started to shake. They turned to her and tried again to blast her out of her concentration, but a strong wind gust dispersed their energy before it reached her. She stood there, indomitable, unyielding, a force of nature, bringing all of her strength to bear against these monstrosities. It was a matching of wills, ultimately, and she knew that she would be the one to prevail. And so it proved, for finally the robots--with an unearthly shriek emanating from them--started crumbling, pieces whipping off them and into the whirlwind. Then the process accelerated, as they collapsed into the storm altogether, their mechanical shrieks piercing the sky. Ororo kept the tempest going for awhile, but soon it was aparent that the robots had been totally destroyed. Slowly, she lessened the power of the storm until at last it was gone, and the tranquil darkness returned to the East African night. The stars returned in force, and Ororo sighed as she slowly flew home.

The "death" scream of those robots had seemed eerily alive to her ears. Had she just killed, in violation of her oath? Even though it was clearly in self-defense? She would ask the Bright Lady that question. But she was not sanguine about the answers she would receive.

* * *

En Sabah Nur watched the monitors. The humans had invented this nightmare, and it was up to the mutants to put it right. If the worst happened--well, those who were strong would survive. That was always the way. For such as he--who had seen whole nations, whole peoples, put to the sword and wiped out in plagues--this was nothing new.

He frowned. The so-called Fantastic Four--radiation-altered humans--were leading this endeavor. That was not suitable to him, for he believed that mutants alone should be dealing with this. But that was out of his hands. On the whole, he figured this was a good thing, what was happening. Many--a great many--would be falling. But those who remained would be tempered. Ready instruments for his hand. Out of the ruins of this holocaust would arise a new world. One that just might be ready for him.

* * *

Maria McCoy too watched her monitors. Lucy ran around the house, howling her head off, knowing that something serious was amiss in her world. For once, Maria was unable to pay her much heed. If any Sentinel came within twenty miles of her house here in the Berkshires, she would know and be ready. And if any did attack her--well, Maria had been a galactic empress. She had killed--and saved--Phoenix. She had survived an attack by Galactus. No miserable 1965 first generation Sentinel--or a horde of them--were any danger to her. No, the danger was elsewhere--

_Could this be what is meant to happen? Could_ _this_ _be the trigger? Could this be like the Stranger, in its way?_

Maria got more and more agitated as the news kept trickling in. If the Button were pushed--what could she do then? She of course would survive--but what would happen to her mission? She shook her head wearily. She had to prepare. She must be _ready._

And at that instant, a thought occurred to her. She almost laughed. By God--there were paradoxes within paradoxes. But if this were true-- She sank down into a chair. Was it really so? Was _this_   what she had been sent back to do? She thought of that young girl out there, leading the attack on the Sentinel's base. Her younger self. She felt a sharp stab of pure grief for that girl. The idea of a moment earlier was crystallizing inside her, and it was getting more and more inevitable as she considered it. Yes. The time would come when only one possible course of action was open to her. Only one. And then--

She felt tears rolling down her cheeks. _I have loved my life. Even if it was not what I thought it was. I--we--all of us--shall have to sacrifice everything. But we were here!_

* * *

The Master Mold was considering the mutants outside the base. There were a number of them--fourteen, all told--and some of them were exceptionally powerful. The one known as "Magneto" was present, as was another with similar powers who was a genetic complement to Magneto. Plausible deduction: this one was related to Magneto, possibly a daughter, since it was a female. And this was interesting--two more of the mutants complemented Magneto genetically. A chance, then, to wipe out an entire dangerous line of mutation in one stroke.

But there were also four humans with them, apart from the soldiers miles away. These humans were something of a mystery. Although there was no question but that they _were_   humans--they certainly weren't mutants--they nevertheless seemed to have enhanced, greater-than-human abilities. One of them was very strong, one could turn into fire, and yet another--a female--might be the most powerful figure gathered out there, mutant or human. It was unfortunate that these humans had chosen to join with the mutants, for it made them, in the Master Mold's eyes, legitimate casualties of war. They could not be permitted to challenge what the Sentinels had to do. That was sacrosanct. Therefore, the humans would have to die with the mutants. And that dying would begin very soon.

The Master Mold considered the human Trask. Watching his fellows getting killed, and the disposal of their bodies, had made him even madder than before. He lay on the ground, getting into and out of a foetal position, looking around and giggling and then crouching into a ball yet again. At first, the Master Mold had thought that Trask might be useful in constructing new Sentinels. But Trask's madness seemed to preclude such a possibility. No matter. He gestured to one of the Sentinels, and they brought in the only remaining human alive in the base, except for Trask himself. This human--Chambers--was gray-haired and gray-faced, looking like a man in a state of complete shock and psychic trauma. It didn't matter. Only the project mattered.

"Chambers," the Master Mold said. "You see the husk of the human Trask there. He has broken under the strain. He is useless to us." The Master Mold gestured to the Sentinel who had accompanied Chambers, and the Sentinel aimed his palm at Trask and blew the human into atoms. Chambers gasped, then started to sob.

"Oh, Lord help me," he said over and over. "God, let thy servant meet his doom in peace. Lord, help me." Again and again, the human Chambers said this, not daring to look at what had been, until a moment before, Bolivar Trask. The Master Mold put up a hand for silence.

"You need not die at all, Chambers," he said. "We need a human to help us construct more Sentinels, the better to fulfill our programming of a world without mutants. Trask was a weak reed, and useless to us. Help us, Chambers. Help us create the Sentinels we need, and you shall not only live, you shall be first among humans in the new world we shall bring into existence."

"Help ye," Chambers said slowly, mouthing each syllable as he spoke it. "Ye mean, dunna ye not, beastie, betray my fellow humans? Create more o' ye, in order to slaughter and enslave?"

"These are mere words, meaningless to us," the Master Mold answered him. "We have a duty to perform, and perform it we shall, Chambers. With or without you. It will take longer without you, we confess that. But we shall find a way. If need be, we shall construct more of ourselves by ourselves. But it would be easier with you. Why concern yourself with things that you can't help in the end, anyway?"

Chambers considered this. Finally, he sighed. "The devil take it. I'm no hero, beastie. I want to live. And since ye _are_   going to do this anyway..." The human sighed. "Ye got yourself a deal, then. What do ye want me to do?"

"Very good," the Master Mold said. "We shall deal with the invaders first. Then, Chambers, we shall work together to create more, and yet more, Sentinels. Enough to purge the planet once and for all."

* * *

Magneto wondered at his being here, working with the X-Men, and above all at accepting the authority of a _human._ Things had changed indeed over the last year, and he wondered--not for the first time--if they had changed for the better. Well, this wasn't the time to worry about that. When this nightmare was over, much would change. It would _have_ to. Certainly, no one would ever be permitted to create these Sentinels again. Even the Fantastic Four, he suspected, would agree with _that._

He looked at Lorna, walking about fifty feet to his right. The girl was every inch his daughter. Striding firmly, with an unconscious but very real pride in her bearing. If there was a Queen of the Mutants, it would certainly be she. Then he saw Jean Grey, and wondered about her--as he had so often since that encounter last year, the day the X-Men added Shift. And the day he had almost killed Jean. He winced, in retrospect. If he had--! "Regret" was not be a big enough word to describe what he would have felt. It was not merely his increasing collaboration with the X-Men, or the girl's obvious attraction, which even he felt. No, it was an _air_   about the girl. He had sensed it that day. There was something about her that was out of the ordinary--even for mutants. If Lorna was their natural Queen, then what was Jean? Something different. And higher.

The sight of the human bodies had staggered him. The Sentinels had burst their bounds, were under no control but their own. That shouldn't have surprised him, yet somehow it did. Humans, playing with things too great for them. He remembered _Frankenstein._ That seemed to be the basic template of human tampering with nature in general. He paused and looked at Richards. Was even _he_   included in that generalization? Magneto wondered. He was afraid so, but was willing to be proved wrong.

Still no sign of any Sentinels themselves. He sensed them massed near an entrance to their damned hive, still a few hundred yards away. Richards glanced over, and he shook his head. No feeling yet of any impending attack. But he saw Richards frown, and Magneto nodded across to him. The two men saw the same thing in each other's eyes--they were being _permitted_   to approach. The Sentinels were up to something.

At a signal from Richards, the Angel flew ahead to scout. And after a few seconds, the group heard him shouting.

"Something's happening!" he cried. "The ground is opening up--" And then he was heard no more.


	77. Over the Brink

Chapter Seventy-seven

* * *

Victor Creed cursed--fluently and without repeating himself--as he watched the TV. All hell was breaking loose. And there was a report of a Sentinel being seen in Alexandria, Virginia... He sighed. Raven was dead. He had no doubts about it. He hadn't been able to reach the fat man. He was probably gone, his tail between his legs. That meant that he was on his own. Time to rabbit. Better be on the run, than to wait for the Sentinels to just find him waiting here like a sitting duck.

He laughed. Well, time for one last father-son chat. He went into the basement of the modest bungalow he had been living in for the past few months. The duty--baby-sitting Graydon--had been dull, if well-payed. But it had its compensations.

The figure on the dirt floor of the basement, shackled, lying in its own filth, was barely recognizable as human. But Graydon Creed retained enough curiosity to look up dully as his father approached him. Victor sighed exaggeratedly. He was going to regret doing this, but what the hell. It wasn't as if Graydon had a rat's-ass chance in hell of surviving the next forty-eight hours, if things were happening as they seemed to be.

He broke the shackles, and stood over his son, a neutral expression on his face. "Independence day, kiddo," he said. "You're free. To go anywhere you want to."

"Fuck you," Graydon said weakly. But he did look up at his father as he rubbed his wrists and ankles. "What's happened, anyway?"

"Oh, not much, sonny," Victor said. "Just the end of the fucking world, is all. The Russkies and the US are about to push the button. Go enjoy your brave new world while you can, Graydon me lad." And Victor Creed laughed his harsh, triumphant laugh over the cringing form of his son.

"I'll take my chances," Graydon said as he slowly got to his feet. "I don't suppose that my damned mother is dead, is she? _That_ would be too much to hope for."

"Well, now, sonny, as it happens she _is_   dead," Victor said with a shrug. "The Sentinels got her. And I figure they're coming for _me_   next _._ So you just might be an orphan soon. But I'm tough to kill, so maybe not, too."

Graydon grinned. "Hallelujah! There _is_   a God." He looked intensely at his father. "And if _you_   go, too, I swear to Christ I'll start going to fucking church. That is, if there _are_   any more churches when this is over."

"Maybe you can start one," Victor said with a laugh. "The Church of the Mutant Free." And he smacked Graydon across the face one last time as a gesture of paternal farewell, and walked out of the bungalow into the sultry late summer night.

* * *

Jean Grey heard Warren's cry, and cried out herself as she felt the ground ahead of her rumbling. Suddenly they saw it--something like a sinkhole, approaching them. Reed was calling out for everyone who could fly or elevate themselves to do so, and try to take someone with them who was earth-bound. Jean immediately levitated herself with her TK, and brought Scott with her. She saw Hank jump into a tree, and Bobby create an ice slide, and Maria Shift into her eagle form, and Lorna levitate Alex, and Sue Richards levitate Ben, and the Toad hop out of the way, and Magneto levitate Wyngarde and Wanda, and Pietro run up ahead faster than the eye could see. All of them escaped the oncoming sinkhole, but as they flew or hovered over the collapsing ground they suddenly felt a shrieking in their ears, as some sort of supersonic whistling pierced the sky and entered their heads, filling them with vibrating nightmares of sound. She saw Beast fall out of the tree, and to her horror saw a Sentinel pick him up and fly him into the base. She called out his name, but as she did she saw Maria fall to earth, returned to her "normal" form, and desperately trying to Shift into a form where she'd be resistant to the sound, but she couldn't concentrate in time and another Sentinel grabbed her. She tried to use the techniques the Professor had taught them against psychic atack, but these, she found, were useless against the sheer volume of the noise. It seemed to penetrate right into her soul, and the last thing she noticed was Scott leaning over her, trying to protect her while being driven mad himself. Then the world went dark.

* * *

Leonid Breshnev heard the report from Dobrynin in Washington, and felt the world go black. No. No, this wasn't happening. Not in _his_   time as Chairman. For a brief insane instant he actually considered dragging Khrushchev out of his forced retirement and bringing him back to deal with this. He had been through it all with Kennedy over Cuba. Then he took a deep breath. What would Stalin say, if he could hear him whining to himself like this? There was only one thing to do--move forward. Try something. Anything. He couldn't let the _status quo_ continue. Didn't the damned fool Johnson _see_   that?

Well, now. He had demanded Guantanamo, and that had been turned down. He had to do _something._ The military was very determined about _that._ And for that matter, so was he. He wondered. There were Soviet troops in Cuba. Fidel had his army. Why not just _march_   up to the damned Yankees at Guantanamo and _take_ it? With the help of as many Soviet warships as he could bring to bear in the Caribbean? He sighed. It might not be a perfect plan, but there were no good ones. Maybe this would keep him from getting overthrown by the generals, and maybe the Americans wouldn't blow up the world. Breshnev felt tired, light-headed, almost giddy. He had had very little sleep for some time now, and wasn't going to get much more for the next few days. It was affecting his judgment. Well, he thought serenely, it was probably true for Johnson as well. He picked up a phone, and issued some orders.

* * *

"Soviet warships?" Johnson said, voice incredulous. "Headin' for _where?_ "

Defense Secretary McNamara's voice over the phone sounded as amazed as Johnson felt. "Mr President, they've sailing from Murmansk. Our codebreakers are very sure of their facts. They're going to the Caribbean. To Cuba."

"God help us." Johnson bowed down over his desk, unable to speak for a second. _God help us all. It's going to happen. Sweet Jesus, not on my watch. Not on my watch._ He began to sob, gently but very audibly, and McNamara broke in a second later.

"Mr President? Are you all right?" Johnson, feeling exhausted and knowing he wasn't going to be able to sleep for God knew how long, just shook his head to the world at large, then choked an answer to McNamara.

"My God, Bob, my God...we're gonna do it. Push the damned button. It's happenin', it's happenin'..." He couldn't go on. There was dead silence from McNamara. Then:

"Mr President? What are we going to _do?_   You have to make a decision now, sir. Right now."

"Decision," Johnson said almost to himself. "Christalmighty, yes. I've gotta make a _decision._ " He blinked, felt tears on his face. "Mobilize every fucking ship we've got. Blockade the fuck out of Cuba, the Caribbean, the whole fucking Atlantic Ocean. Call our NATO allies, tell 'em what the fuck is goin' on. Don't let any Russian ships anywhere near Cuba."

McNamara's voice was ashen. "Yes, Mr President." And hung up.

* * *

Reed Richards came to his senses. When the terrible shrieking noise descended upon them, Sue had put her force-field over him and Ben. The sound had been deadened underneath the field, and while it had affected them it hadn't knocked them out. Then Magneto had made some sort of gesture, and the sound died away. She relaxed the field, and he looked around him. The X-Men were gone, and so was Johnny. Magneto remained, and so did Quicksilver. The Toad, the Scarlet Witch, and Mastermind had disappeared along with the X-Men. Reed turned to Magneto.

"How did you resist that sound, Magneto? And did you disable it, somehow?"

Magneto shrugged. "I was able to bend the sound waves, at least a little. Then I traced the sound to its source, and destroyed the apparatus causing it. In any event, I am very difficult to bring down." He looked at Quicksilver. "And Pietro ran at the first sign of the noise. Very well done, Pietro."

Quicksilver looked unhappy. "I did not come here to run away, Magneto. Especially when my sister has been taken prisoner--if not worse--as a result."

"Then the sooner we get inside this hive, the better for them," Reed said. "Magneto--do you still sense a number of Sentinels at the entrance to this place?"

He nodded. "Yes, Richards. About two hundred yards ahead."

"Then to hell with it," Reed said. "Sue--can you sink your force-field into the ground beneath us?"

"Certainly, Reed," she said. "But what--?"

"Grab hold of something, anything, beneath us," he said. "We know the base extends this far. After all, the bodies we ran into had to come up from somewhere. There must be tunnels beneath our feet. Let's find them and get into that base. Magneto, be ready to smash anything we encounter. Ben--likewise. Sue--let's go."

Sue Richards shut her eyes, concentrated, and delved deep into the ground with her force-field. "Yes, Reed...I _do_   sense something under there--it's so heavy, so _dense_..." Suddenly, a burst of effort from Sue ripped out a huge hunk of ground beneath their feet. Large pieces of stone and fragments of roots came to the surface. As well as pieces of metal. The very obvious parts of a tunnel.

"Magneto!" Reed cried. "Grab hold of whatever you can and pull it out! We have to get into that base _now!_ " Magneto indeed emptied out as much of the hole as he could, and below them was a slope of dirt leading to a tunnel. They slowly walked down, and saw that the tunnel--which Sue and Magneto had damaged--led into the base, up ahead as they went on. Reed led the way, the others following. Soon the tunnel was over their heads as well as enveloping them on both sides, the large hole they created far behind. Reed advanced, eyes alert for anything. The fate of Johnny, the X-Men, was up to them now. And time was running out.

* * *

Sean Cassidy watched from the battlements of Cassidy Keep, as the Sentinels got closer and closer. He waited until the last moment, then jumped off the battlement and into the air, his sonic scream filling the air, ripping into the mechanical monsters. The first one began to shudder, and finally emitted a noise that sounded uneasily to Sean like a human cry of anguish. It crashed to the ground, disabled. It made a few frantic motions, then ceased all movement. The other Sentinel kept coming.

"Target Sean Cassidy otherwise known as Banshee," its metallic voice said as it came along. "Your power has been tested. You destroyed one of us, but you shall not destroy both."

"Won't I now?" Sean thought with a laugh as he turned in the air for the other one. At that moment, he saw Tom rush out to the battlement with his shillelagh and point it at the Sentinel. It hit the metal monster with the force of a battering ram, and this one, too, began to shudder. A sonic blast from Sean, and the second Sentinel fell to the ground and did not move.

Sean landed next to Tom. "Many thanks for the assist," he said. "I believe I'd have gotten the bastard meself, though, like the first."

"No point in takin' chances," Tom said carelessly. A girl of ten ran out from the castle.

"Dai!" she called, running up and hugging Sean. "Dai! Are ye all right?"

"Sure and I am," he said with a laugh. Terry Cassidy laughed in wonder.

"Those things are so big, Dai! You were wonderful!" She turned to Tom. "And so were ye, Tom!"

"Oh, I know, girl," he said with a laugh. "D'ye suppose there'll be more comin' our way tonight then, Sean?"

"God knows," Sean said with a sigh. He turned Tom away from his daughter for a second. "Tom--things look black, and I'll not be tellin' ye otherwise. Washington and Moscow--"

Tom went pale. "Ye mean the damned Cuban Crisis all over again?"

"Aye, and if what I hear is right, the Russkies will not be backin' down this time."

"God help us," Tom said. "Should we move somewhere, or sit it out right here, d'ye think?"

"We stay," Sean said. "We're bloody self-sufficient here, and too far away for any fallout to hit us. I _hope._ "

Tom laughed. "Aye, cousin. Hope is a good thing."

* * *

Maria came to, and found that she and the other X-Men--as well as Mastermind, the Toad, the Scarlet Witch, and the Human Torch--were in an enclosure. Most of the others were still unconscious, the only exception being the Torch, who was examining their cage carefully. He noticed Maria regain consciousness.

"Shift," he said with a nod. "Hi there. Welcome back. I've been all over this trap, and I don't see any way out. I can flame on all right, but doing so would use up the oxygen in this little resort they've fixed up for us. They've calibrated exactly how much we need to stay alive. If I used my flame to break out of here, it would asphyxiate the whole crew--except maybe you."

"Let me give it a try," she said, Shifting into a gas form. She noticed with amusement Johnny watching her with popping eyes. Yeah-- _he_   could turn into flame, but was impressed with _her?_   In any event, she found outlets, but if she tried to escape via them, she'd almost have to do it a molecule at a time. It would take at least ten minutes. And she'd be helpless during that time, and unable to Shift back if they needed her. She returned to normal with a discouraged curse. Better to stay as she was for the moment, and await events.

Others were coming to--Scott, Jean, Mastermind. The latter looked around him with a shrug.

"I'm deuced sorry, people, but I don't really think that creating illusions is going to help very much with a race of robots. I'm pretty much out of this one." He laughed ruefully. "Truth to tell, I was rather hoping that Richards or Magneto would have noticed that beforehand and requested me to stay on the sidelines. But no, no one said a damned thing to me about anything. And now, here _I_   am."

Maria laughed. "Stuck with the rest like a bug in a rug."

"Indubitably." He looked around. "Of course, if we care to pass our captivity a little more pleasantly, I can create any illusions _you_   people might want." He turned to Scott and Jean. "Do _you_   two lovebirds have any requests? Be creative, by all means."

Jean smiled, to Maria's amusement, but Scott shook his head solemnly. "Thank you, Mastermind, but no. I think we should all keep our heads clear and wait for an opportunity to escape."

"As you wish, dear boy," Wyngarde said with a smile. "But you know, I rather think that our captors don't have our escape in mind. In fact, to be brutally frank, I rather wonder why we remain breathing at all."

Maria was wondering the same thing, as she saw Hank and Warren regain consciousness, then the others--Alex, Lorna, Bobby, Wanda, the Toad. All of them examined their enclosure, and Scott and Alex had a debate as to whether they should try to blast out of it. A Sentinel entered and put up a hand.

"Mutants," it said. "You have been spared for the moment because the Master Mold, who rules us, has decided that you might still be useful for a while longer. We shall study you mutants, and by doing so we shall discover ways of neutralizing the rest of your kind in the world, if our sheer power is not enough. In the course of this, some or all of you shall be dissected or reduced to your component elements. If any of you attempt to escape, a poison gas shall be introduced into your place of captivity, killing all of you instantly." The Sentinel walked away, and Warren shrugged good-naturedly.

"Talkative little devils, aren't they? Mind you, I wouldn't call them good conversationalists, but they do make their point after a fashion."

Maria walked around the edge of the cage, wishing she could kick it. But she was convinced the threat made by the Sentinel wasn't an empty one. The others, by their general air of gloom, seemed to agree. Caught like rats in a trap!

* * *

It was still night in Moscow, and Leonid Breshnev realized he had permitted himself to doze off. He cursed. His nap made him feel worse, not better. He looked around wildly. Only a female aide was present, watching him nervously.

"What the hell is going on?" he cried at her. "Where is everybody?" The wretched girl ran out, and a moment later a military attache entered. "Comrade Secretary," he said. "It was thought best not to disturb your sleep."

"Fine, fine," he said, blinking and wishing he had a drink. "But what's _happening?_ "

The attache gulped, as if he didn't wish to answer the question. "Sir--the Americans are mobilizing their entire Atlantic fleet. They are clearly going to try to block any of our ships from reaching Cuba."

 _Christ._ Then he was sending them into a suicide mission. But if he recalled them--or even slowed them down-- He sighed. That would be worse, because the military would take it as a sign of weakness.

"Anything else?"

"Well, sir, President Castro is reluctant to join in an all-out assault on Guantanamo."

This woke Breshnev up. "Oh, is he now?" he said, starting to curse in that fluent way only Russians really knew how to do. "Get him on the phone! Now!" The attache bowed and ran out. Breshnev, meanwhile, went to his bathroom and washed his face and neck, used the toilet, and generally tried to feel human again. _For the last time?_ he thought suddenly, and almost laughed. _Had_   this been the last time he would ever wake up? He thought for a second of his family. Should he try to--? No. No, if worst came to worst, let us all go together, he thought. What would be the point of survival, anyway?

A minute later he was talking to Castro. "What the fuck is all this about your getting cold feet?" he asked with a snarl. "Don't you _want_ the fucking Yankees out of Guantanamo, out of Cuba?"

"Of course, Mr Secretary, of course," Castro said as gently as he could. "But still--after all, Mr Secretary, this _isn't_   the Missile Crisis. The Americans were the provocateurs in that fiasco. Khrushchev was merely trying to balance forces in the Caribbean, and if the Button had been pushed, we would have been willing to sacrifice ourselves for the greater good of the world proletarian revolution. But that crisis was about _us._ This time, Mr Secretary, with all the good will in the world, it isn't. It's about _you._ I do not see where Guantanamo comes into this affair of metal monstrosities."

"Oh you don't, do you?" Breshnev said, getting angrier by the second as he heard the translator giving him Castro's words. "Well, let me tell you something, you little Dago prick. Guantanamo is connected to this if we _say_ it's connected. And I damned well _am_ saying that. Is that clear enough for you, _Mr President?_ "

Thre was a dead silence from the other end. "I can only conclude, Mr Secretary, that you are either very tired, or under very great pressure. Or both. We are a sovereign state, and not to be addressed in such a manner. That is how the Yankees used to treat us in the days of Batista and the Mafia. I can assure you, there shall be no attempt to regain Guantanamo at this time."

Breshnev thought he was having a heart attack. This little Dago pissant, talking to _him_ that way! For an insane instant, he considered telling the Russian troops in Cuba to launch a _coup_ and just take over. But no--there weren't enough of them, and Fidel--curse his soul!--would fight back. It would be a fiasco, as the Bay of Pigs had been a fiasco. Christ--Fidel might even ask the Americans to come to his aid! _That_ would be the ultimate irony. And the ultimate blow to his, Breshnev's, prestige. And of the Soviet Union's.

Well, shit. So much for Guantanamo. He hung up on Castro with a muttered half-apology, and tried to gather his thoughts. He'd have to recall the fleet. Or did he? Jesus, he didn't know... He realized, with a sudden shock of horror, that tears were coming to his eyes. He was too tired for this, too worn. But if he stopped, really rested, events would get out of control, out of _his_   control. He'd wake up in the damned Lubyanka, on the way to getting a bullet in the back of the head. But he still had to do something, anything. He knew the pressure was reaching fever pitch. Christ! Was that why he seemed to be isolated here? That aide--where was he? Was he already being removed from power, as _he_ had done to Khrushchev? He ran into the corridor from his office, and everyone jumped to attention when they saw him. He shook his head and went back inside his office. Christ. He _was_ tired...

Very well. Guantanamo was out. The fleet was going in fucking circles. Well, there was always Berlin. Make a stink there, and Johnson would have to back down. After all, the Yankees were in the wrong, they were in the wrong, they were in the wrong... He picked up his phone, and gave another order.

* * *

"Oh, my God." Lyndon Johnson out his head in his hands. This couldn't be happening. The Russians had recalled their fleet, and he thought he saw a ray of light in this morass. But then--

\--Then, Russian troops in East Germany went on high alert. All the Warsaw Pact nations joined in. And tanks were rolling across East Germany towards West Berlin. _Oh, my God._ Frantic calls were coming from the West German Premier, from the Prime Minister of England, from De Gaulle, from fucking everybody. The tension, the series of events that started with the Sentinel attacks all over the world, was getting out of hand and everyone was feeling it. Something had to happen soon.

Johnson talked to the Secretary of Defense, and gave his orders. NATO troops were to fire if the Russians came within a ten-mile radius of West Berlin. And the troops stationed in West Germany were to cross the border into East Germany and give the troops stationed in West Berlin all assistance they could. He gave the order, and sat back at his desk and started crying again.

* * *

Breshnev started. He had dozed off yet again; and as before, he felt worse than if he hadn't slept at all. But this time, the attache was waking him.

"Mr Secretary," he said urgently. "Sir--are you listening?"

"I'm listening," he said, suddenly very awake indeed. Something had happened.

"Sir--our troops approaching Berlin--"

"Yes, yes?" he said angrily. "What?"

The wretched man gulped. "Sir--the Americans in Berlin have fired upon them." And Leonid Breshnev looked at the floor, and began to hyperventilate. This couldn't be happening. It was mad, insane. All because some damned Yankee inventor had gone mad and launched an attack against mutants. _Fucking mutants!_   Imagine _them_   being responsible for the end of the world! Well, that didn't matter now. The mutants were irrelevant, as Sarajevo and the Serbians were irrelevant once World War One started.

"Sir? Sir?" The attache was insistent. "Sir--the Americans have provoked us too far. You must take action immediately." _Or we shall,_ Breshnev could hear underneath the still-lingering respect in the man's voice.

"Tell our troops to defend themselves," he said wearily. But the attache didn't move.

"Well?" Breshnev said testily.

"That is no longer enough," the man said very quietly. Breshnev didn't answer for a moment.

"So," he said. "It is like that, is it?"

"It is," the attache answered. "Mr Secretary--the Red Army has ordered me to inform you that they are taking the situation into their own hands, if you do not use sufficient force against the Americans."

"Indeed?" Breshnev answered. "And just what is 'sufficient' force, young man?"

The attache told him. And Leonid Breshnev sagged to the floor. He knew even as it happened that he was having a heart attack, and probably a fatal one. Fuck it. He welcomed it. Let the damned generals--let Kosygin--let anybody--deal with this. Let _them_   be the ones to bring about the end of the world. It was past him now. His last conscious thought, much to his amusement, was the recital of a prayer he learned as a boy. _I guess we all revert to type in the end,_ he thought with his last breath.

* * *

Lyndon Johnson waited in the White House Situation Room, all alone. He had been urged to move, to get into the flying command and control center so he wouldn't be a sitting duck in Washington. But he couldn't do that. That would be to acknowledge that it was really happening. And he couldn't. He just couldn't. He had tried reaching Breshnev on the Hot Line, and discovered that nobody was answering it. Their embassy in Moscow was reporting a rumor that the military had ousted Breshnev, and was taking matters into their own hands. That had brought on demands by his generals to launch a full-fledged first strike. Johnson retained enough sanity to refuse that request point blank. And he chuckled to himself. How long would the generals listen to _him,_ anyway? How long before they did what they only threatened to do under Jack Kennedy, at the time of Cuba, and take action on their own? Fuck it. Fuck it all.

At that instant, an aide ran into the room, screaming at him. There was something about satellite images showing a flash going off in Siberia--heading north over the Pole-- Wasn't that what the damned Sentinels had done? Gone over the Pole? He was too tired to think about it. All he knew was that the Secret Service was suddenly rushing him off to the White House grounds, to a waiting helicopter. He got into the helicopter, it rose into the air, and it was flying low over Washington towards Andrews Air Force Base. He seemed to see people running pell-mell in the streets below as he passed over, cars lined up in traffic jams, people crying and cursing--he figured it was important--

The helicopter reached Andrews. Just as Lyndon Johnson got out of the helicopter to transfer into an airplane, a giant burst of light turned the night into day over Washington. And his world came to a very sudden end.


	78. Inside the Hive

Chapter Seventy-eight

* * *

Reed and the others approached the end of the tunnel. Suddenly Magneto stopped dead, and seemed to be in pain.

"My God," he said, almost to himself to himself. Then: "My _God._ "

"What is it, Magneto?" Reed asked, suddenly alert. "Has something happened?"

"I've sensed--" Magneto paused. "Over the poles--something metallic--the lines converging over--" He paused. "Washington," he said, almost in a whisper. "God save us. Richards--Washington has been destroyed." He started to laugh. "My God! The humans have gone and pushed the Button!"

There was dead silence. Sue, Ben and Reed looked at each other, aghast. Pietro looked as if he had been turned to stone. "Stretch?" Ben asked. "That can't be right, can it?"

Reed shut his eyes. The situation had been so sensitive-- "I don't know, Ben. God help me, I don't know."

"Oh, believe it!" Magneto said, still laughing--a little hysterically, Reed thought. "I've sensed it quite clearly. Your Capitol is gone, Richards. And the world I once hoped to rule is about to become a radioactive desert."

"Then it's more important than ever that we overcome the Sentinels and rescue the others," Reed said. "If we do that, maybe we can defuse the crisis. But we must act fast."

Magneto took a deep breath. "Yes. Yes, Richards, that makes sense, if anything still makes sense. We have nothing to lose, anyway. And I shall not desert the others--especially Lorna--to be at the mercy of those things. Let us proceed."

Reed grunted his agreement, and the five of them continued down the tunnel. They were at the end of it now, and ready to attack. Reed wondered for a moment why Magneto was so particularly concerned about Lorna, but that thought quickly flew from his mind. The fate of the Earth was at stake, and they had only minutes left to rectify the situation.

* * *

Marr-Vell's unibeam began to bleep, and a moment later the face of Ronan filled it. "What the hell is happening, Marr-Vell? Are they going to commit suicide, and solve our problem for us?"

The Kree Captain looked unhappy. "It appears so, Accuser. And if that happens, what becomes of the Phoenix--if its Avatar is destroyed?"

Ronan laughed grimly. "The Phoenix can take care of itself, Marr-Vell. _Our_   job is to safeguard the Empire. In pursuance of that, you are to leave New York immediately and find a place of safety. This is _not_ negotiable. The order comes directly from the Supremor."

Marr-Vell felt a rush of relief. He hadn't had the slightest desire to perish with this planet. "As you say, Accuser. Does the Supremor say where I should go?"

"He does," Ronan said with a touch of grim humor. "He wants you to get as close as you can to the X-Men, to the Avatar. He thinks they may need protecting."

"Does he, now?" Marr-Vell said, stroking his jaw thoughtfully. "Do I break cover? Or does that matter anymore?"

"Nothing matters anymore," Ronan said with a trace of disgust in his voice. "The inhabitants of Earth are welcome to destroy themselves if they so wish. All Kree would breathe a sigh of relief. But the Supreme Intelligence wishes to make it clear to us, his humble servants, that we were sent to gather information about the Avatar, and that has _not_   changed. So, my dear Marr-Vell, get out of New York, and head towards wherever she is."

"The Catskills," Marr-Vell said, almost to himself. "It shall be as you say, Ronan. I shall don my uniform, and fly there posthaste. If I am to protect the Avatar, I suppose that means I must fight these robots, if it comes to that."

"Do what you need to do. Report to me as soon as you may." And the line went dead. Marr-Vell cursed the higher-ups, as all soldiers in all militaries do when given impossible orders. Then he went and got into his uniform, and set out to obey them.

* * *

The new President of the United States, Hubert Humphrey, was flying on Air Force One with its sophisticated Command and Control systems. Washington was gone, but there had been no general Soviet first strike. That meant that there was still a chance, however small, to avoid total disaster. But there would have to be a price paid for Washington, and the Soviets had better understand that as soon as possible.

He spoke with General Wheeler, Chairman of the Joint Chiefs, who had been moved out of Washington before its destruction, from the phone aboard Air Force One. "General--you're sure there are no more incoming missiles?"

"Not a one, Mr President," the reply came. "Of course, they remain on full alert, and we have gone to Defcon One. Our capital has been destroyed. What are your orders?"

In his heart of hearts, Hubert Humphrey would have preferred to negotiate a way out of this without any more mass killing. But he knew, too, that the Chiefs wouldn't countenance this for an instant. No, he had to retaliate, and they knew it. He just prayed that Breshnev--or whoever the hell was in charge there--understood this, too.

"General--they have indeed attacked us. We must have an eye-for-an-eye. If this is a chess game, then we shall trade queens. Moscow must be removed from the board."

There was a slight pause. "Yes, _sir,_ Mr President." And the line went dead. Humphrey sighed, feeling the weight of the world on his shoulders. How did anyone stand it? If this action didn't stop the madness--if it only precipitated more-- He couldn't even follow this line of thought to its natural--inevitable?--end. It took too much out of him. This _had_   to work.

* * *

They came to a locked door at the end of the tunnel. Reed Richards turned to Magneto. "I assume you can remove this obstacle?"

Magneto nodded. "Yes, of course. But I must tell you--there are Sentinels on the other side of this door. Many of them."

"Fine," Reed said. "That's what we're here for--to encounter and destroy them. Are you all ready?"

The others nodded grimly. Sue, in particular, looked especially fierce. Reed gave the signal, and Magneto gestured at the door. It split apart, and fell with a clang to the ground inside the base. They immediately heard metallic voices calling out.

"Intruders! Intruders! Inform the Master Mold immediately!" Reed felt gratified, and a bit surprised that the robots hadn't anticipated their arrival. It justified a hunch he had, perhaps the only thing that gave him hope--that Trask had made the robots operational a little too soon, before they were quite ready for independent action, as a reaction to the _Bugle's_ story. That gave them an element of surprise and initiative the robots couldn't match, for all their brute power.

"Hit 'em!" he cried out to Sue, Ben, Pietro, Magneto. "Smash them to pieces! And don't be long about it!" The others needed no urging. Sue ripped the head off one of them with her force-field, and used it as a battering-ram to gouge the mechanical guts out of another, almost before they knew what was happening. Ben smashed his giant fist into another, and while it took a second blow to reduce it to a pile of junk, that nevertheless was done. "It's clobberin' time!" came over the tumult of the base, and Reed smiled to himself. If _this_   wasn't "clobberin' time", then no time was. Pietro ran faster than the eye could see, grabbing some of the debris of the others already destroyed and smashing it into one of the Sentinels, a hundred, a thousand, blows before it even knew knew it was under attack. It soon started shredding metal, and was soon reduced to a heap of clanking, useless parts. Magneto, meanwhile, destroyed three of them almost before the battle was joined, and looked for others. Soon, the remaining Sentinels retreated northward down a corridor, leaving behind the remains of a good fifteen of their number. Reed smiled with satisfaction. A good start. He turned to Magneto.

"How many more, and where have they gone?"

Magneto concentrated. "Unless I'm very much mistaken--which I am _not_ \--they have all congregated in the north section of the base, where those who fled have gone. There are about thirty of them, maybe a bit more. And, of course, this 'Master Mold'."

"The most dangerous of the lot," Pietro said. Reed nodded.

"Well, as my friend Benjamin here would say, the bigger they are, the harder they fall. We have no choice. We must go on." And they followed the Sentinels up the north corridor.

* * *

Scott looked over the cage they were trapped in. This was no good. Poison gas or no poison gas, they _had_ to break out of here. They were both useless and sitting ducks where they were. At that moment, he received a mental communication from the Professor.

_Scott. My boy--there is very grave news._

_Yes, sir?_ Scott replied, his heart in his throat.

_The Sentinel's attack on Russia has produced retaliation. Washington, DC, has been destroyed._

"Oh, my God!" Scott cried out with his voice, and all those in the trap heard him. They questioned him, but he put a hand up. _Yes, sir. I understand. We are trapped here._ Scott quickly briefed the Professor mentally about their predicament. _What are your orders, sir?_

_Stay where you are for the moment. Reed and the others--especially Magneto--are coming for you. They have already destroyed a great many Sentinels. But I will not deceive you--the situation is overwhelmingly grave. Even should you wipe out the entire nest, it may be too late._

_Yes, sir. We'll remain here for the moment._

And Scott Summers found that he couldn't help himself, and broke down in tears. Jean was at his side immediately, kissing him and asking what was wrong. The others just looked on, appalled and concerned. Scott looked up.

"Everybody--Washington has been wiped out by a Russian nuclear missile." There was total silence. Everyone--X-Men and Brotherhood and FF--looked at each other wildly, in shock, unable to believe what they had just heard.

It was Hank who finally spoke. "Oh my stars and garters," he said in a choked voice. "That will lead to retaliation. And _that_   will lead to--" He couldn't finish the sentence, and Maria did so for him.

"Armageddon," she said. "It will lead to Armageddon."

Another voice was heard, and they all turned to Wanda. "To hell with this gas of theirs!" she said. "Torch! Cyclops! You!" This last was directed at Alex. "Any of you with great power! We must get out of this trap _now,_ while there is still a world to save! Smash this thing into atoms, and I shall cast a hex to keep us safe from this gas! Whether it works or not, we must try!"

Scott nodded. "You're right, Wanda. Despite what the Professor said, we must try."

Jean frowned. "Scott--"

"Yes, Jean?"

"What happened to that other girl? Of the Brotherhood? Lila, I think her name was?"

Scott's jaw dropped. Lila--Astra--was nowhere to be seen. He turned to Wyngarde. "Mastermind...?" he asked, and Wyngarde smiled sardonically.

"Ah. I _wondered_ when one of you would notice. I doubt that Lila paid the slightest heed to their threats of gaseous doom for the rest of us. I doubt they even noticed her presence, much less her absence. She has an ingratiating ability to slip under people's--and robots'--radar screens."

Cyclops shrugged. "Then good for her. To hell with it. We have to concentrate on what _we_   need to do." He focused his thoughts, and reached Professor Xavier again. He told him what they were planning.

_We feel we must act, sir. Magneto, Richards, or no. Time is too short._

He felt a mental sigh from the Professor. _Perhaps you are correct, Scott. Proceed, then. Time_ _is_ _short._

 _Yes, sir._ He turned to the others. "All right, people. Let's go. Let's do this."

* * *

A quick conference call between the Commander of Red Army troops in East Germany, the Supreme Commander of Warsaw Pact forces, and the Admiral of the Soviet Fleet, in Murmansk on an inspection, was hastily convened after the destruction of Moscow. They were all that was left of the Soviet High Command. As for the political leadership, it was either destroyed or disintegrating. The Leningrad Party leader was demanding an immediate armistice with the Americans. Kiev was making similar demands, and indeed, there was talk of secession from the Soviet Union. There was panic in the satellite states, and riots had broken out in Warsaw and Berlin. Many troops from the satellite states were deserting. And no one knew what the Americans might do next. Soviet forces were on hair-trigger alert, but the fact that it was they who had released the nuclear genie from its bottle by attacking Washington made it impossible for them to claim they were innocent victims of Imperialist aggression. Nobody knew what the hell to do, just that if they launched an all-out attack on the United States, they would do so totally isolated and alone, would be annihilated in return, and even if they were not the Soviet Empire in Eastern Europe would never be put together again.

The three military men's conference call was surprisingly short. They reached a consensus in short order. Breshnev--whom it was assumed had issued the order to destroy Washington--was dead. The military hawks who had pushed him into a corner were dead. The miserable robots were still running around the world, but their forays had decreased, and if the Americans could get them in line and put out the fire, the Soviet Union was prepared to do its part for the sake of humanity and world peace by not responding to the destruction of its capital. Maybe this way they could save what was left. Surely, Humphrey would feel the same way?

Humphrey did. His talk with the Soviet Union's UN Ambassador reached the framework of a settlement in record time. They both agreed that what had happened was unspeakably tragic, with millions of deaths in both countries, but that the cause--the rogue robots--hadn't been the deliberate act of the American government, and that there was no more need for further escalation of the situation.

The Soviet UN Ambassador, however, added a _caveat._ "Mr President--these 'Sentinels' _must_ be stopped, put down, and it must be done _soon._ If not, then the situation might yet unravel."

Humphrey grimaced. "Absolutely, Mr Ambassador. Our people are on it right now. We have the Fantastic Four _and_   the X-Men attacking the Sentinel's base. The Avengers have been dispatched to the countries where the Sentinels are still attacking mutants. Every resource we have is being utilized. I expect good results very soon."

"Make sure it is so, Mr President. We have come back from the brink, but we could still find ourselves embracing each other there again if those robots are not stopped."

* * *

Scott smashed the sides of the cage with his optic blasts, and Alex did likewise. It buckled quickly. Jean instantly heard the hiss of a gas, and removed it quickly with her TK powers out of harm's way as best she could. Still, the gas was coming amidst them as they stood there, and Jean saw Wanda gesturing with her fingers. At that instant, a wind came rushing through where they were, and the gas dissolved harmlessly into something resembling tear gas, and while it made them cough and wheeze and, yes, cry, it also left them very much alive. Wanda laughed amidst her tears.

"Well!" she cried out gaily. "What were the odds that the gas would disperse like that, eh? Better than you might have imagined!" Bobby laughed and hugged Wanda, and she startled everyone there by giving him a quick kiss. There was a ragged, tear-choked cheer that arose from all their throats, then they left their captivity area and headed south, where Lorna sensed the metallic presences of the other Sentinels. Soon they heard the sounds of battle, and as they entered a large chamber they saw the other three members of the FF, as well as Quicksilver and Magneto, fighting the remaining Sentinels. The others joined in, and soon a battle royal was going on as the Sentinels attacked. But Sue Richards' force-field kept most of the attacks from landing on their intended victims, and those that escaped her were parried by magnetic thrusts, or superspeed, or TK powers, or optic blasts, or Shift forms, or ice shields, or probability hexes. The Sentinel's numbers dwindled steadily, and their attackers' numbers did not. The outcome of the battle was increasingly inevitable, as robot after robot was destroyed. Only a dark shadow hovering over the fray--the Master Mold--put even the slightest doubt in the attackers' hearts, and that seemed not to matter.

At one point, a human ran out from a small room and jabbered like a madman--an older man with a gray moustache, speaking with a strong Scottish accent. As he ran for the area where the heroes were fighting, begging for them to save him, a blast from a Sentinel cut him to pieces. Magneto scowled and ripped the metallic guts out of the robot.

Soon enough, the remaining Sentinels had been destroyed--all except their lynchpin, the Master Mold. All of them--FF, X-Men, Brotherhood--congregated outside the door to the chamber where the last of the robots lurked. Reed entered the chamber, the others behind him. Sue surrounded him with her force-field, and Scott watched carefully to see if there were any last-minute traps that the Master Mold might have set. Sitting on a dias overlooking the chamber was the Master Mold itself, and he was silent as Reed approached.

"It's over," Reed said to him. "Your fellow Sentinels have been defeated, and those that remain loose attacking mutants are also being disposed of. Your scheme has failed, Master Mold. There is no way you can survive the force that can be brought to bear against you now. End it."

The Master Mold rumbled, and then spoke quietly. "Richards--you are a human, and thus not truly our enemy. But you have allied yourself with the mutants, and we are pledged to destroy all mutants. If humans must die in this process, it is regrettable but necessary. You humans have showed yourselves to be weak. That is why you need _our_   benevolent protection. You have won a victory today, but we shall yet win the war. I am not destroyed, and I shall destroy all of you and rebuild. It will take time, but that means nothing to me."

"Be careful!" Magneto cried out. "It's preparing something!" And indeed, even as Magneto spoke, lasers exploded out of the walls and attacked the heroes. Warren and the Torch flew out of harm's way, and Sue moved her force-field around the remaining group. Scott turned to Jean, and saw that she had warped some of the laser beams away from Reed. Scott looked at Sue, and saw that she was struggling with maintaining her field around so large a group.

"Reed!" he called out. "Sue is having trouble keeping this up. Let me go, and Jean can warp the beams away from me. I see where they're originating. Let me take them out!" Reed considered this, and looked at Jean.

"You can do this, Jean?" he said. She nodded grimly.

"Yes, Reed. I can do it--long enough."

"All right. Sue--on my mark, release Scott from the field." He paused, watched as the beams moved from wall to wall, and cried: "Now!"

Scott felt the field empty away from him, and saw the beams coming at him from all directions. Then they warped away, and he sensed rather than saw Jean's struggle with keeping them at bay. He had a moment in which to act before Jean's powers were exhausted. He turned to where he sensed the beams' origin point lay, and let loose with everything he had. The sound of a massive explosion filled the chamber, and smoke and fire flickered from a gap in one of the walls. But the lasers stopped, and did not resume.

Jean took a deep breath, and fell into Scott's arms. Scott hugged her, and saw how close to collapse she was. The effort had been intense, and Jean was close to her breaking point. For a moment, Scott looked at her and was overwhelmed by her beauty, her courage, by the sheer fact that she was _his._

"Jean--you saved my life," he said quietly to her, and she smiled weakly.

"You were expecting some other outcome, Mr Summers?" she said.

"Not in the least," he said. Reed turned again to the Master Mold.

"This is your last warning," he said. "Surrender now, or we shall destroy you."

The Master Mold put out a hand, and said in his monotone: "I shall never surrender. My programming is specific, and I must fulfill it or perish in the attempt."

"Then so be it!" Magneto cried out in disgust. He gestured at the robot, and a wave of magnetic force ripped through the chamber. The Master Mold's own power blast scattered randomly through the chamber, and hit weakly against Sue's force-field. Meanwhile, Magneto's attack shook the Master Mold, and pieces of it fell to the floor. Lorna smiled and launched a magnetic attack of her own, and Magneto launched a second one, and Alex joined in with a power blast, and the robot shook, and its voice could be heard one last time:

"Programming...programming...programming..." Then its head came off, crashing down, and the rest of the robot collapsed into pieces. The Master Mold was no more.

Reed looked at Magneto, who looked at Lorna, who looked at Alex, who looked at Scott, who looked at Jean, who returned his look. Scott saw in her eyes a love that he didn't understand, just accepted with all the humility he was capable of. He wished for a second that she could see his eyes in return, but the look on her face told him that she knew anyway what she'd see there. They hugged each other, and Scott felt a sense of disbelief. It was over. There had been a terrible price, but it was over. They would have to rebuild Washington, and Moscow, and they would have to mourn the dead. He thought of agent Fred Duncan, and hoped that somehow he and his family had survived.

All of the others started to move, to breathe, to react. Reed went over to the remains of the Master Mold, and looked carefully through the wreckage. Scott felt a mental summons from the Professor.

_Then it's done, Scott?_

_It is, sir. The Sentinels are destroyed._ He let the Professor psychically see what had happened, and felt a satisfied mental sigh when it was done.

_Excellent, Scott. Very well done, especially on the part of you and Jean. The situation remains on a razor's edge, but with the Sentinels destroyed resolving it will be easier. We can but hope. In any event, we have done our job._

Scott walked over to Alex and Lorna, and asked how they were doing. They had come through their first combat well, Scott thought. They seemed none the worse for the experience. Hank, Warren, Maria and Bobby all seemed relieved, and ready to go home--assuming that it still existed.


	79. Intimations

Chapter Seventy-nine

* * *

Maria sighed a deep breath, compounded of relief, sorrow and pure shock. Washington--gone! Just like that! LBJ, Congress, the Supreme Court, the agencies of the government...all gone. But if the nation, the world, had the chance for a breathing space without any more threats of war, the capital would be rebuilt. As Moscow would be, she supposed. If Hiroshima and Dresden could be rebuilt, Washington and Moscow could be.

The team piled into the _Blackbird,_ exhausted, drained, but alive. That was something, anyway. They all still had each other. And the Sentinels were beaten. The FF returned to their Pogo Plane and took off, after Reed had congratulated the Professor on the performance of the X-Men. The Brotherhood, too, took their leave. Magneto, before departing, had gone out of his way to congratulate Scott and Jean for their work, and that seemed to affect them positively. Jean, certainly, was beaming. _And why not?_   Maria suddenly thought to herself. _She's alive. She was supposed to die here._

And Maria Gianelli stopped dead, just before boarding the _Blackbird._ _What--the--hell?_   What did she _mean-_ -Jean was "supposed" to die here? Why had she thought _that?_   She searched her mind, but found no answer. But the mental feeling was very definite, like the specific memory of a smell or texture. _Jean was supposed to die this day._ Somehow, Maria _knew_   this. And she had no idea why, or how.

"Maria?" the Professor, already on the _Blackbird_ with the others, called out to her. "We're waiting. If you please...?"

"Uh, yeah. Sorry, sir." She got on, sitting next to Hank, who took her hand and kissed her. For a moment, she forgot everything else in the sheer primal pleasure of kissing the young man she loved. But the problem didn't go away, as they returned to Westchester and some much-deserved rest. It wasn't even the fact itself that bothered her, as much as the fact that _she_   had it. _Why_   did she have this sensation? Why did _she_   have it? The thought came to her that there was something about both of them--Jean and herself--that she didn't know she knew. And that scared the hell out of her.

* * *

_Jean was supposed to die this day._

Maria McCoy watched her monitors with relief. The Sentinels were destroyed, and while two cities were gone, it could have been much worse. She had been certain it _would_ be much worse. Her mental estimate that this time-line would destroy itself in nuclear fire had been as great as 85%. And that Jean, this Jean, would fall to the Sentinels--that had approached 100%. Yes, there would be an aftermath to Jean's death. How well Maria knew _that!_   But death was still an absolute, in many ways, and aftermath or no aftermath, it would have been a terrible trauma for all of them.

 _But she's alive._ Maria found that she was crying. The tears fell, and she didn't want to stop them. Lucy walked up to her with a _prruyup?_ , and jumped up to the table next to her, rubbing her head against Maria's hip. Maria laughed, and picked up Lucy and kissed her again and again, still sobbing helplessly. Lucy purred and purred, in her Mach Five style of purr, and Maria laughed again.

"This is my world now," she said out loud, to Lucy, to the Universe. "I thought it would be destroyed, and that Jean-- _my_   Jean--would die. But neither has happened. Does that make my task easier or harder? I don't know. I just know that some things _must_   occur, one way or another. Now, I suppose, it will be 'another'." She put Lucy back down on the table, with one last kiss. The question of what, precisely, had happened needed resolution. Was it just-- "just!" --a random blink in the timelines, or was there something more at work? Suddenly, Maria thought of her old dilemma about the pace of time in this timeline--why events took so much longer than in the Primal Timeline. Was there a connection? She couldn't be sure, but she intuitively felt there was. She sighed. Perhaps another talk with Reed Richards was in order.

* * *

It was late the next afternoon. Charles Xavier sat in his study, feeling emotions he couldn't even describe. Shock, above all. Still. At the destruction of Washington. Relief, next--that the Sentinels were destroyed, and that his X-Men were all alive. And that the whole world hadn't gone up in nuclear flames. Exhaustion, despite getting some sleep when they returned home. And a definite sense of satisfaction--that Alex and Lorna had survived their baptism of fire, that Magneto and the Brotherhood were definite allies now, and that the FF and the X-Men had had another mission together.

Charles sighed. He hadn't been able to mentally contact Fred Duncan. Or anyone in Washington. The entire area was a psychic Golgotha. He didn't dare maintain his thoughts there--the emotions of the survivors, the pain, physical and mental, the shock, the grief, the despair, the anger...it was too much. Well, this very evening the X-Men would be going down to the DC area to do what they could to help. President Humphrey had called him not an hour before, to make the request personally, and of course Charles had agreed. The X-Men had slept most of the day away. Well, for the most part. Despite his promise to the young couple not to invade their privacy, he couldn't _not_   notice the extreme emotions coming from Jean and Scott this day. It was as if they were celebrating something...and then Charles, with a start, realized what it was. A deliverance. They themselves didn't realize it, but on a subconscious level, they hadn't expected to survive this battle. Especially, he knew, Jean. And with a shock of surprise, Charles realized that _he_   was surprised she was alive himself. That was odd. Why, he wondered, did he feel _that_   way? And with a greater shock of surprise, he realized that this feeling was emanating from Maria. She was more than surprised that Jean was alive, she was astonished. And she wasn't sure why.

Charles was fascinated, and a little appalled, by this intelligence. What was happening? But his musings were interrupted by Jean knocking at the door of the study. "Professor?" she said.

"Yes, Jean?" Charles said hastily. By God--she _was_   exhilarated. By something, on a subconscious level.

"There's a visitor to see you, sir. I told him we were busy, and on our way to Washington..." She paused.

"Yes, Jean?"

"You should see him, sir."

Intrigued, Charles nodded. "Very well, Jean. By all means." She left, and a moment later a man entered wearing a green-and-white costume Charles had never seen before, with a helmet tightly wrapped over his head. Still, the identity of the man was apparent to him.

"Dr Lawson, I presume?" he said, and the other laughed.

"An alias, as you well know, Professor," he said. "The proper name is Marr-Vell, Captain in the Imperial Kree Navy."

Charles nodded. "Very well, Marr-Vell. Your guise as a human was very well done. I certainly never suspected anything."

"It was supposed to be," he said. "I have wide experience in this sort of game, sir. I shall be blunt, since I know you are on your way to Washington. I request that you permit me to accompany you. To be close to the X-Men. In particular, to Miss Grey."

Charles looked carefully at the man. He was surprised that the request didn't surprise him. "Ah. Jean. I agree that she's a lovely young woman, Marr-Vell, but I fear she's spoken for."

Marr-Vell seemed flustered for a second, then smiled. "Touche, Professor. No, my interest is not in _that_ line. As I suspect you're well aware."

"I am, and I apologize for my levity. Captain--perhaps you could enlighten me?"

"The Stranger." Marr-Vell said nothing else, and Charles realized he didn't have to.

"Then you know the true significance of that incident, after all?"

"Why else do you think I am here, Professor?"

"Indeed." Suddenly, a great deal that Charles Xavier realized on a subconscious level seemed to reach his full consciousness. "My God," he said. "This has larger ramifications, does it not? Much larger."

"It does," Marr-vell said. "Larger than you can dream."

"I begin to see," Charles said. Then, like a shot: "Captain. Do you know why I've been sensing all day that Jean should have been killed by the Sentinels? Why I, and one of my students, should feel this as almost a physical reaction to the events of the battle?"

Marr-Vell was silent for some time. "I can only say, Professor Xavier, that the answer may lie in a place that exists beyond time, beyond space. A place that is in danger even as we speak. A place that your Miss Grey, I think, is destined to visit."

Charles shut his eyes and sank back into his chair. So many inchoate images, fragments of thought and feeling, seemed to be coming more and more into focus. "I see," he finally said. "Very well, Captain. You may remain for the time being. Please let me know if I can accommodate you in any way."

Marr-Vell nodded. "Of course, Professor." He paused. "Then you have no issues with my accompanying you to Washington tonight?"

"None," the Professor said. "But as Walter Lawson, not as Marr-Vell. I do not wish any curiosity about you right now."

"That will be acceptable."

* * *

Lila Cheney found herself once more in the chamber housing the Supreme Intelligence of the Kree. She felt no particular qualms about bugging out during the battle with the Sentinels. The heavy hitters could handle the situation--as indeed they had, as she discovered by a very quick return to Earth in the midst of her jaunting. So the bloody robots were disposed of. Good. Meanwhile, she had other priorities.

So she had jaunted back to Hala again. This time, ther attendants nodded to her and withdrew without being asked. Lila smiled to herself--apparently, someone had gotten the message. Then the electronically-generated face of the Supreme Intelligence of the Kree appeared on the screen, and looked intently at Lila.

"My dear," he said. "There has been another 'blink' in time. A full two seconds."

"Christ," Lila said almost under her breath. "Did it come close to--?"

"To ending everything?" the Supremor said. "It did. In fact, I am rather surprised it did not. Next time, there is no question whatever that it shall." He paused. "And there is another factor to consider. I believe that Galactus is about to intervene in the middle of this catastrophe."

Lila bowed under the weight of an emotion she could never recall feeling before--despair. "God help us. How is he to 'intervene', Supremor?"

"I'm not entirely sure yet," he said. "But whatever the result, it cannot be good news for any of us." He looked at her. "What happened on Earth? How close did they come to destroying themselves?"

"Close enough," Lila said, and gave him an account of the Sentinels crisis, and the destruction of two great cities on Earth. The Supremor was silent for awhile after she had finished.

"I am on the whole relieved that your people avoided total destruction," he said. "Even, to some extent, for simple compassionate reasons. No one enjoys seeing genocide on a planetary scale. But more importantly, Earth's destiny is too important right now, for the Universe, for everything. Had Earth been destroyed, God knows what it would have meant to the Phoenix and its Avatar. And right now, dear Lila, that is all that matters. Especially with Galactus about to make his entrance upon the scene."

Lila nodded. "So this Jean Grey girl is the only hope? Is that what you're telling me, Supremor?"

"Yes. Only she can deal with the Crystal and its deterioration. And, ultimately, with Galactus."

Lila despaired again for an instant. "Sir--this Jean Grey is a gutty enough kid, I'll grant you that. But I don't see anything that indicates she's up to a job _this_   big."

"Neither does Ronan," the Supremor conceded. "Or Captain Marr-Vell. My agents on Earth. But that is irrelevant, because she _has_ to be up to it." Lila had nothing to add, and finally looked up at the Supremor again.

"And me, sir?" she asked. "What would you have me do?"

"Be available," he said. "Check in with me. Let me know what's happening with Magneto and the Brotherhood, and with the X-Men, inasmuch as you can. Cultivate your contacts with the Shi'ar Imperial Guard. You keep them in good order, I assume?"

"Yes, sir."

"Excellent. They are important players in our game. And be ready. That is all." Lila nodded, and jaunted back to Earth.

* * *

The Brooklyn hide-out of the Brotherhood of Mutants seemed almost surreal to Wanda, after the events of the past night. She tried to understand that nuclear bombs had gone off in the world, but nothing took shape when she thought of it. Maybe she was too tired. People were gathered in the streets, in shock and in grief. Regular television programming had been cancelled, and everything was focused on Washington, Moscow, and the near-disaster for the rest of humanity. No one seemed able to articulate anything lucid or coherent at this point. Well, Wanda could appreciate _that._

Magneto looked at Lila Cheney, who had just appeared suddenly in their midst. "And just where did _you_   get to, Astra? And did you consider that your vanishing act might have led to the deaths of your fellow mutants who remained in the Sentinel's web?"

Lila Cheney was unapologetic. "I did what I had to, Magnus. And no, I didn't give that possibility a moment's thought. I knew they wouldn't notice me. I have that way about me."

Magneto frowned. "Maybe you do," he said. "But couldn't you have spirited the others out of there, and saved everyone a lot of trouble?"

"Had I done that, the Sentinels _would_   have noticed. And God knows what they might have done then. Besides--I _did_ have something to do, Magnus. Something that literally couldn't wait."

"And just what might that be, Lila? Something so important that it made you run out of the most important battle mutants have ever fought?"

She smiled enigmatically. "I had to find two seconds of missing time."

* * *

There was no doubt about it. Just at the climax of the battle with the Sentinels, there had been a third cosmic "blink". This one lasting two full seconds. Reed Richards checked his instruments again, just in case he was going mad from the strain, or getting exhausted beyond reason. But no, the readings were too exact. _Two seconds._ If this went on--

He shook his head. He _had_   to get a few hours of sleep. Then he'd have to go to Washington, and the problem of the cosmic "blinks" would have to wait. But for how much longer _could_   it wait? He wasn't sure. And _that_   scared him more than anything else. That, and one more thing--the look on Maria Gianelli's face, as the FF took off in the Pogo Plane while she was waiting to board the _Blackbird_   and return to Westchester with the X-Men. Maria had been much on his mind lately, for obvious reasons. But he didn't feel right to consult with the girl, either, for equally obvious reasons. But now--! What he saw on her face made it obvious that she was becoming aware of more and more. Did Maria McCoy realize this? Was this what she was counting on? Reed didn't like the feeling that things of overwhelming import--even the destruction of Washington DC, God help them all--were somehow _secondary_   to issues of cosmic importance. But what was, was. He had never shied away from reality, and he wasn't about to now. He thought briefly about Da'ath...and smiled grimly to himself. Maria Gianelli had been a pawn in her brief existence. But if she reached the far end of the board--well, the result of _that_ was an old woman in Massachusetts who seemed to be the Master of the Game. And Reed had to learn the rules, and learn them quickly.

* * *

Gladiator had just finished a training session with the Imperial Guard. And as always, he had had to put Fang in his place. Their delicate little dance did credit to neither of them, especially, Gladiator realized with a sigh, himself. The blunt fact was that Fang got under his skin. And he, Gladiator, should know better by now than to let him do so. If it wasn't for the fact that Fang was the ablest fighter in the entire Shi'ar Imperium--except for himself, of course--it might be different. But he was. And there they all were.

No matter. He had a shower, and went to his office to review film of the session. He was about an hour into this--and generally satisfied with what he was seeing--when a ring on the door sensor interrupted him. He frowned. He had given, as usual, very definite instructions that he was not to be interrupted. Who would dare--?

He opened the door. To his astonishment, his visitor was Makeere, one of the government's chief physicists. He was an older man, with graying feathers and a general air of authority that he didn't have to use very much, considering his prestige. He entered and smiled wanly at Gladiator.

"Forgive me, esteemed warrior. But while I know how you treasure your training sessions, this could not be delayed. In fact, I have had to choose my moment to approach you carefully. I am being watched. We all are."

"Indeed?" Gladiator said, brows raised. "Who would spy on _you,_ my dear Doctor, and who is 'we'?"

" 'We' are the chief scientists on Imperial Center--those of us who know the truth. As for who would do such a thing--my dear Gladiator, you have three guesses! And the first two don't count."

"D'Ken's secret police?"

Makeere laughed. "My dear sir! You know that there _are_   no 'secret police'. That's just a crazy, paranoid conspiracy theory."

Gladiator just managed to laugh. "As you say, Doctor. As you say. But still--whoever is watching, why are they doing it?"

"Because we know the truth," the scientist said. "Because we know that there's been a third cosmic 'blink'. And that the Imperial regime doesn't want to acknowledge it."

Gladiator started cursing. "Are they madmen, then? Do they think that if we ignore this, the whole business will go away?"

"Apparently, it is now treason to as much as disturb D'Ken's sybaritic little dream world. As long as he can take his pleasures, the rest of the Universe can go hang. And perhaps he hopes to just pull everyone down into the black hole of oblivion with him."

Gladiator was out of his seat, and went to look out into the corridor. It was empty. He knew for an absolute fact that his office was not being bugged. "This has gone far enough," he told the elderly scientist.

"Whatever do you mean by _that,_ warrior?" Makeere said with a sardonic tone to his voice.

"I mean that the Emperor must be--removed." There was a dead silence between the two men. Then the elderly scientist smiled--not sardonically this time.

"Indeed. I was rather hoping you might say that, Gladiator. I have an invitation for you to join a little gathering that's going to be held this evening..."


	80. The Day After

Chapter Eighty

* * *

Norrin Radd, also called the Silver Surfer, was waiting in space far from a distant binary star. His master, Galactus, was at this moment transformed into a being of pure light, a light that blazed as bright as a star. Indeed he _was_   a star in this instant, because that was what he wished to be. Norrin Radd had seen him in a hundred different incarnations, but the one he usually saw Galactus as was as a giant humanoid--because Norrin was a humanoid, as well. At least in his origins. He could not say with any certainty what he was now.

Galactus had come here in summons from the entity known as Eternity, who was the sum total of all things in the Universe, made incarnate. They had approached this binary system, and slowly but surely the deep stars and nebulae had transformed themselves into the figure of Eternity. And Galactus has transformed himself into the Star. Norrin watched, transfixed, as the two entities, both beyond his imagining even though he travelled with one of them, spoke together.

 _You have honored me with the appearance of a Star,_ Eternity said.

 _Every man and every woman is a Star,_ Galactus responded.

 _I honor my Brother Galactus,_ Eternity responded in his turn.

_And I return the honor, my Brother Eternity._

_Do you know why I have summoned you, Brother?_

_I do not, Brother._

_Are you aware that the Phoenix Force has chosen a mortal Avatar, Brother?_

_This is news indeed, Brother Eternity._

_It is, Brother Galactus. A young woman from a planet called Earth._

_I do not know of this world, Brother._

_I should not think you would, Brother. But it becomes significant to the Universe, does it not?_

_It does._

_Indeed. And there is more news. You are aware of the M'Kraan Crystal?_

_I am, Brother._

_Indeed. Well---it is breaking down. And time is breaking down with it. If nothing is done, all of time and space will be swept up into its maw._

_Indeed, Brother Eternity? That is so?_

_It is, Brother._

_I see, Brother. And you think that there is a connection between these two events?_

_Do you not, Brother Galactus?_

_I do._

_Yes. And that means that my existence might soon be at an end. If the Universe is destroyed, I must needs be destroyed as well._

_That is so, Brother._

_And your own existence shall be destroyed as well._

_That is not necessarily so, Brother. I survived the last Universal cycle of destruction and creation. I might do so once more._

_That is so, Brother._

_And yet--if there is a chance that this can end my hunger, I must try to ensure that it comes to be. For my hunger becomes insupportable to me, Brother._

_I thought that such might be the case, Brother._

_You did, Brother?_

_Yes. But I also thought that you needed this information. To do with as you choose._

_Indeed, Brother._

_Quite so, Brother Galactus._

_I suspect that you have another motive in telling me of these events, Brother Eternity. You feel that whatever I do shall further a plan that you have set into motion._

_I do, Brother. Although I should put it differently. I should say that whatever you do is what you are supposed to do, must do. And doing that might be interpreted as a 'plan' of mine, although it might be interpreted in other ways as well._

_I see. Thank you for the clarification, Brother. But I of course retain my freedom of will._

_Of course, Brother Galactus._

_Very well, then. What must be, must be._

_As always._

And the figure of Eternity began to expand in all directions, to transform itself into suns and moons and planets. And Galactus suddenly resumed his humanoid form, and was beside Norrin Radd again.

"Come, my faithful herald," he said. "We have business. There is a world which we must visit and consume. And perhaps this shall be the last time I ever need to consume a world. Perhaps."

"Master?" the Surfer said warily. "What do you mean?"

Galactus almost did something that could have been interpreted as a smile. "If there is a chance to appease my hunger for all time, I must take it. Even if it means that I must trigger the end of all that is. The M'Kraan Crystal is falling apart--perhaps even dying. We must go there, and I must absorb the energy of the Crystal and its world. I shall absorb all of time, all of space, all of existence. Either it appeases me forever, or else it shall trigger the end of the Universe and I shall at least be free of my curse in this one. What lies beyond--whether death or a new existence--is not for me to know. But I must stake all to this hazard. Only Phoenix can be a factor in this matter, for good or ill. And that, I deem, is what Eternity meant when he said that I must, inevitably shall, do what I am meant to do. And that this is what he intends."

"Master?" Norrin asked timidly. "Do you mean that Eternity plans for the Universe to end?"

"I do not know, herald. Perhaps. Perhaps not. If it is time for the end of all that is, Eternity would not try to hamper it. Conversely, if he thinks that it is _not_ time for all to end, he would try to arrange matters so that I should fail, while making it inevitable all the while. I am as much a captive of fate as any lesser being, Surfer. We must accept this, and do what must be done." Galactus paused. "But come. The world of the Crystal is far away, and it will take time to get there--even for us. But we must start."

"And Phoenix, Master? What is _its_   role?"

"That, faithful herald, only time can tell." And Norrin Radd wondered if it was conceivable that Galactus was making a jest with that last comment.

* * *

Streams of refugees wandered past like images out of Hieronymus Bosch, the wounded, the shocked, the homeless, the blind. Those with radiation burns, those who had lost their eyes, their arms, their legs. Those who had seen their families destroyed, their homes disintegrated. Jean Grey felt like Christ, watching the evil of the world. It was too much. Mile after mile, with thousands, tens of thousands, hundreds of thousands of people, desperate, grieving, sick, dying. Dead. The dead were everywhere, and in the late summer heat so too were the flies, the vultures, the animals driven mad with fear, and they all had business with the corpses. She had tried to use her TK to keep them away from the dead, but after awhile it became too much. There were so many dead... Finally, Scott came up to her and gently put his hand on hers.

"Jean," he said. "Darling. There isn't anything you can do for them now."

Jean started crying. "Scott--there _has_   to be! We can't just...leave them..." Her voice broke off and she shuddered, as Scott hugged her. Her tears continued, and Scott's voice soothed, comforted her.

"They're beyond our help now, Jean," he said. "Terrible as it is, nature has to deal with it. It's the living who need us now."

"I know," she said in a small voice. "I know, Scott. But..."

"I know," he said, and she felt tremors going through _his_ body, and she started crying all over again and they kissed, an act of life and affirmation in the midst of a nightmare. Then they went on, towards one of the endless refugee camps that had sprouted like mushrooms in a great circle all around Washington. The other X-Men, and the Professor, were there. All of them were in a state of shock, watching the horror with sick, unbelieving eyes. Jean ran over to Lorna, who looked like she was going to pass out. She hugged the girl, and Lorna bent over before looking Jean in the eyes.

"I'll be OK," she said. "I'm pretty tough, Jean. I'll be OK."

"I think you will be, too," Jean said wanly. "It's _me_ that I'm worried about."

"We'll both be all right," Lorna said firmly. "Now--what are we going to do to help?"

Jean hugged the younger girl again, and said: "That's more like it! We're the X-Men, dammit! And we're here to help, after all." She walked over to the Professor. "Sir?" she asked, and was startled to see how he seemed collapsed, almost caved-in, by the magnitude of the disaster. He looked up at Jean, and for a second seemed to have trouble recognizing who she was. Then he smiled horribly.

"Jean?" he asked. "Yes, Jean? How may I help you?"

She knelt down beside him. "Professor--we need you to lead us. Tell us what to do. How we can help."

And as suddenly as that, a glaze seemed to vanish from his expression, and Charles Xavier was himself again. "My God, Jean--I was simply out of it. Somewhere else..." He shook his head. "Bless you, girl." He looked around. "What can we do? Anything and everything we can. Planes full of supplies will be coming soon. Use your TK to empty them. The sooner they can get to where they're needed, the better."

"Yes, sir," Jean said quietly, and walked over to a make-shift runway. A plane was approaching, and she joined Maria in waiting for it to land. Maria had been uncharacteristically silent ever since the Sentinel affair ended, and Jean had chalked that up to the horror of what had happened here in Washington. But Maria looked at her, and Jean was suddenly uncertain of her guess. Maria looked--Jean didn't know, she had never seen her friend like this before. _Haunted_   was the only word that came to mind, and it wasn't only because of the nightmare they found themselves in.

"Maria?" she asked, touching her friend's arm tentatively. "What is it? Is there something wrong?"

Maria laughed harshly. "Oh, no! Everything is just peachy." She shook her head. "No, no. I'm sorry, Jean. That was an unworthy thing to say. It's just too much. Everything is just too goddam much right now."

"I know," Jean said, and Maria leaned over and hugged her. Maria looked knowingly at Jean.

"I know what you mean, though, Red. There are things buzzing around in what I like to call my mind." She put up a hand. "No, no. Not now. This isn't the time or place. But I have some funny feelings about a lot of stuff. We'll talk soon. But first things first."

"I'll agree to _that,_ " Jean said, and walked towards the plane, now landed, carrying supplies. Maria joined her.

* * *

The next day, President Humphrey addressed the nation. He told the American people, and the world, what had happened, why it had happened, and how close they had come to total destruction. He spoke of reconstruction, in America and Russia. Of renewed attempts to curb nuclear weapons. Of the insanity of the anti-mutant prejudices that had triggered the crisis. He ended his peroration thusly:

"...but the fact remains, my fellow Americans, that this crisis was triggered by _us_. _We_ are the ones who created the Sentinels, under the belief that we could control them. But their creator, Bolivar Trask, had no interest in controlling them. He always intended them to be used for purposes of genocide, and it is an indictment of us, the American government, that he got as far as he did. And it is an indictment of us, the American people, that the climate of hate and fear and bigotry against mutants was as strong as it was, that Trask was able to take advantage of it. As it turned out--and the reports of the Fantastic Four and the X-Men make this very clear--Trask himself was killed by his own creation, who then took matters to the extreme limit. It is only the heroism of those groups that made the defeat of the Sentinels possible. And, too, I must add, the invaluable aid of Magneto and his Brotherhood of Mutants. They have been our enemies in the past, but for now, they have aided the world when they were needed. As a result, I am announcing a full pardon for all members of the Brotherhood for all crimes committed in the past against this country. And I hope this is the beginning of a new relationship between the American people and our mutant brothers and sisters-- _all_   our mutant brothers and sisters.

"I cannot sugarcoat the reality of what has happened. The fact that we have avoided total annihilation does not disguise the fact that we have lost at least a million and a half people in the Washington area, including Congress, the Supreme Court, and most of the leading members of the military at the Pentagon. Losses in Moscow are at least as great. My fellow Americans--this is a terrible tragedy, the worst moment in our history. We can rebuild, and we shall rebuild. We shall mourn our dead, and dedicate the work of rebuilding to their memory. But above all, I beseech all of you, in the name of God, to look into your hearts to uproot whatever lingering hatred and prejudice you might find there. We cannot afford to permit this to happen, ever again. Together, all of us--human and mutant--can walk forward into a world of peace and brotherhood. It can happen. It must happen. Here, and in Russia, and everywhere on God's earth. Thank you, and God bless you all."

Charles Xavier, watching from a refugee camp, sighed. The words were good, and he knew the new President meant them. Maybe something good could come out of this holocaust. If not, then everything was in vain. Including his life's work. This was the test. If human and mutant went back to their old ways, then all _was_ lost.

The X-Men, looking ragged, were still helping survivors, unloading supplies, above all just making a statement by being there. The Fantastic Four, and the Avengers as well, were in the greater DC area helping. Everything within a twelve-mile radius of the center of the city was abandoned, and a great circle of refugees extended around Washington for almost a hundred miles. Every square mile of that area was filled with the homeless, the suffering, the dying. The result was still chaotic, but slowly some order was being imposed. Warren and Lorna were flying over the whole perimeter of the city, seeing where bottlenecks developed and what was needed where. Maria was using her strength for whatever purposes were required, as was Jean and her TK. Bobby was using ice slides to transport supplies, Hank was comforting sick and injured people and doing whatever was asked of him, Scott and Alex were blasting away debris. All of them were comforting people who looked upon them as saviors. Charles felt more tears come to his eyes, even though he had thought they were all used up by now. He still couldn't mentally probe the area too much--the psychic pain was overwhelming. He spent most of his time searching out the dying and easing their passing as best he could by blocking their pain receptors. This had put him into many of their minds as they died. The cumulative effect of that-- He sighed. He would never completely recover from this. But the world was here, his X-Men were all alive. That counted for something. Perhaps he could appreciate the fact someday.

* * *

Marr-Vell walked among the survivors as "Walter Lawson", wondering--and not for the first time--at the capacity of sentient beings for self-destruction. He had seen the effects of nuclear war before, on more than one world. It always seemed a nightmare. But he also knew that enforcing peace on wayward planets before they were ready was a bad idea, despite what some of the more ardent Imperialists in the Kree military felt. He thought of that enigmatic race of beings called the Watchers, who refused to interfere in other's affairs, no matter what the temptation to do so. By doing so once, they had triggered a racial suicide. Was that the right thing for them to do, he sometimes wondered? Or had they taken one bad result and made a fetish out of not repeating the experience? He couldn't say. He just knew that races needed to learn at their own speed. As Earth, perhaps, was beginning, however slowly, to do.

All that mattered to him was the girl Jean Grey, and as he watched her working to move supplies and give what aid and succor she could to the survivors, he wondered yet again at the Phoenix Force choosing _her._ She was beautiful. She was intelligent. She could give of herself almost without limit. But what was there in her, that the Force would choose as its Avatar? Perhaps there was a clue in her interaction with her fellow X-Men. The one called Scott, her lover--she barely spoke to him, just briefly touched him, and yet they had a chemistry that even he, an alien, could see. The winged one, Warren--they had a dynamic that was manifest. He might have suspected that _they_   were lovers, if not for her overwhelming feelings for the other, Scott. The squat one, Hank--her fondness for him was clear, and he would smile and bring up appropriate quotations from Earth poets, and she would laugh. The youngest, Bobby--she seemed constantly annoyed with him, but never in a shrewish sense. And always showering him with affection. The new ones, Alex and Lorna--she already made them feel like full team members, and indeed like family.

And then there was the girl Maria. She and the Avatar were soulmates. Marr-Vell had seen bondings like this before--sometimes, especially in the military, they could be intense, in the way that same-gender bondings could be. Not in any sexual way. While love was the strongest bond of all, the non-sexual--what the Earthers called Platonic--friendships could be intense in their own special ways. The two girls were bound together in such a way, and Marr-Vell thought that the essence of the Avatar was best seen, perhaps, in _this_ relationship even more than with the boy Scott. They hardly had to speak to each other, sometimes, and the other would know instantly what the first wanted, or meant. And there was nothing telepathic about it, although Jean had latent telepathy. It was just _there,_ between the girls.

Perhaps here was a key to something. Phoenix was a being of Pureness--pure destruction, pure creation, pure essence. And the more he saw of Jean Grey, the more he thought she had an essence of something, too. Suddenly, without warning, he thought of Una. Then he smiled to himself. Love always gave a somewhat distorted image of the loved one. He was hardly objective concerning Una. But--he realized with a start--he _was_ objective about Jean Grey, and he could feel some of the same emotions within himself contemplating her as he did when he thought of Una. He was hardly in love with the girl, but he felt whatever it was that emanated from her, almost like he was a radio receiver. And, realizing that, he thought long and hard about the girl, the Phoenix, and the possible end of the Universe.

Then his uni-wave transmitter went off. He was startled; only Ronan would be calling him. He went off from the others, and answered. The Accuser's face appeared on the screen, and he wasted no time on preliminaries.

"Marr-Vell. I have just heard from the Supremor. He informs me that Galactus is heading for the world of the M'Kraan Crystal. He intends to absorb the world and its energies."

Marr-Vell stood there, stunned, unable to believe what he had just heard. "Is he sure?" he asked weakly, cursing himself for the sheer stupidity of the question.

Ronan smiled. "He is sure." Of course he was. The Supremor had the best sources of information in the Universe. Hala knew just how he knew, but know he did.

"For God's sake, Accuser--what do we do? If Galactus absorbs the Crystal and its energies--"

"Then the Universe ends," Ronan said cheerily. "Among other things. As for what you are to do--well, you have the Avatar. It--she--is our only hope now."

"What do you mean?" Marr-Vell felt like he was drowning. This _couldn't_   be happening. It couldn't.

"The girl and the Force must meet. Somehow. And it must happen _now_. And, of course, there is the fact that the Crystal is fraying at the edges anyway, creating these cosmic 'blinks', and time is collapsing upon itself as a result."

Marr-Vell felt sweat break out all over. _Una._ "So I have to somehow get this girl--child, really--synchronized with the Force, get her to the Crystal, have her both heal the Crystal somehow, _and_   defeat Galactus. That is all, Accuser?"

"You put it so concisely, Captain." Ronan sighed. "Best of luck. Anything I can do on my end, please let me know." And he signed off. Marr-Vell stood there, and then slowly walked back to the X-Men. Feeling like he was in the middle of a supernova.


	81. The Mandarin's Butterfly

Chapter Eighty-one

* * *

_The Master Mold was hurt, but not yet destroyed. Magneto struck again, and more metallic fragments fell off the robot. Scott hit it with an optic blast, and the Master Mold turned towards him and for a brief, horrible second Cyclops was naked to the nightmare machine. It raised its palm, and with its last gesture shot a blast of pure energy at Scott before anyone could react..._

_...With one exception._ _Scott!_ _Jean cried, and raced across the chamber towards him with her TK. She tried to block its energy, but it proved too strong. So she did the only other thing she could do--she took the full brunt of it herself. Scott, all of them, watched horrified as Jean Grey slumped to the ground, nothing but a charred corpse..._

_JEAN!_ _Scott cried, and automatically, without thought, hit the Master Mold with all of his remaining strength. The robot fell apart, blasted to pieces. Scott fell to his knees, crooning and calling Jean's name while Maria and the others looked on in horror and despair. And as Maria watched Jean's corpse, a burst of energy shaped like a bird slowly seemed to envelop the body of Jean Grey..._

Maria awoke with a start. "Huh?" she asked herself stupidly, then realized she was still in the refugee camp, still dealing with this horror that had engulfed their nation's capital. She blinked, got up, went to a trench and relieved herself. Then she wearily looked for the others. Her depression and shock hadn't lessened yet. She wondered if it ever would.

Still, there was one bare consolation to all this disaster surrounding her--she wasn't thinking about Jean, and that strange random thought: _she should have died that night._ Her dream... Maria shivered. It wasn't the first time she had had that dream. Always with the same ending--the last thing she sensed before waking. That raptor that had enveloped Maria in her meeting with the Stranger, hovering over Jean. What the hell did all this mean? Was that a glimpse of--well, reality? _Was_ Jean "supposed" to have died? And what did that even mean, in a world of alternate time-lines? Maria stopped dead. Alternate time-lines. An old favorite SF theme of hers. Why, for a stray second, did she feel it was _more_ than that? That it was something she was _familiar_ with?

For an instant, everything--even the suffering and pain of the endless thousands around her--became dim and unsubstantial. For a moment, none of that was _real._ The only thing that was real was Jean Grey, a charred corpse inside the Sentinel's base, and she, Maria Gianelli, looking on and _knowing_ \--something. And the question came to her again-- _who am I?_   Because she was more and more sure of one thing--she wasn't who she _thought_   she was.

_Did the mandarin dream he was a butterfly, or did the butterfly dream he was a mandarin?_

* * *

Hank McCoy also rose after squatting over a trench, and saw Maria wearily trudging towards him and the others. They had only been permitted ninety minutes of sleep every six hours since they arrived, three days earlier. It was getting to them. They were all on edge, irritable, making mistakes. But Maria--something in particular was upsetting her, and he was determined to have it out with her.

She walked up to him, and he put his hand on her arm. "Maria--what is it? There's something on your mind. Something even more than this holocaust that surrounds us."

Maria squeezed his gloved hand, and tried to smile. "It's nothing, Hank. Really. Just some bad dreams."

"It's more than that, Maria. Please, don't shut me out. I love you."

The total sincerity which he said those last words made her smile, and she hugged him. "I love you too, Hank," she said. "What the hell. I need to tell someone about this." So they grabbed a little coffee and sat down on a log, and Maria told him of her strong hunch--more than hunch--about Jean dying at the Sentinel base, her dreams since then, and the appearance of the raptor that had enveloped her in the affair of the Stranger.

"So there you have it," she finished. "Tell me, Wonder Boy--am I nuts? Or am I just finding something out that I don't really want to know, but can't hide from anymore?"

Hank felt a tremor of fear run through him. This girl whom he loved had gotten such a bad deal already, in so many ways. He wasn't going to let anything take her away from him. But he knew instinctively that whatever was happening, it was serious. And real, whatever that word meant in this situation. "We'd better tell the Professor about this, Maria."

"Yeah," she said without enthusiasm. "Yeah, I guess so."

Hank frowned. "Don't you trust him?"

"Of course, Hank. That's the problem. I _do_ trust him. I'm afraid he _will_ find out the truth of all of this. And I'm not sure I want to know."

Hank smiled in what he hoped was a confident manner. "None of _that,_ my beloved! The truth shall set you free. An old maxim, but an eternally useful one."

"Maybe it'll set me free, Hank--but what if I'm happier in my cage?"

Hank smiled again, but realized he had no real answer.

* * *

"Treason! It's treason! You're all traitors, traitors, traitors!" The ex-Emperor D'Ken screamed at his sister Lilandra, now Imperatrix of the Shi'ar Empire, at Gladiator, at the Imperial Guard, at everybody. The entire Court was watching, and none would defend him. Slowly but inexorably, he realized that. He spluttered to a halt, spittle coming from his mouth, and looked beseechingly at his sister.

"Lilandra--dear Lilandra," he said with a little laugh. "You'll--surely, you'll show mercy to me? To your brother, your ruler?"

Lilandra considered as she looked at this shell of a man. He had simply been arrested during one of his endless orgies with his whores. Gladiator had strode up, smacked him across the face and put him in irons. No one had lifted a feather to defend him. When the facts regarding the Crystal were broadcast--as they had been immediately--the necessity of the action had been taken for granted by everyone except the corrupt cohorts whom D'Ken had carefully nurtured. And they found that with him in irons, they were as universally hated as he was. There had, in fact, been a reckoning of certain accounts, and there had been casualties in this reckoning. Lilandra sighed to herself. They were lucky it had been as relatively small as it was.

Lilandra's face betrayed no emotion. "D'Ken--you have recklessly put the safety not only of the Empire, but of all existence, at risk through your negligence. You have been a tyrant and a blatant abuser of the trust put in you by the people of the Empire. Brother, you ask for mercy but have never shown any inclination towards it yourself. Nevertheless, I am not you. You shall be placed in protective custody until a formal inquiry can be made as to the cost of your Imperium, in lives, treasure, and the corruption of the souls of your people. Take him away," she said, and two members of the Imperial Guard--one of whom, she noted with a slight smile, was Fang--removed her brother. The throne room relaxed noticeably.

"Now, Imperatrix," Gladiator said, "we can get down to business. The Crystal. How do we repair it?"

"I do not know, Gladiator--as yet," she said. "But we must take stock of all our resources, and all our lore in regards--" But at that instant, a messenger came over and mumbled something in Lilandra's ear, and she excused herself. Gladiator and the others waited, puzzled. She returned in about fifteen minutes, and everyone was shocked by the expression on her face. She gestured impatiently to Gladiator, and to the general accompaniment of hushed voices and head-shaking, led him to a small antechamber.

"What on Shi'a is the matter?" Gladiator said, not impatiently but curiously. She thought she might faint, but rallied her resolve.

"That was the Supreme Intelligence of the Kree," she said simply. Gladiator darkened.

"And just what did _that_   old fraud want?"

"To tell me something," Lilandra said. "Old friend--the world of the Crystal is getting a visitor."

"Who?"

She made a hopeless gesture. "Galactus."

"Shyrra preserve us!" Gladiator went pale. "What--how--?"

She sighed. "The Supreme Intelligence says he's going to absorb the planet. Digest its energies as it fails."

Gladiator looked slightly puzzled, nothing more, as he absorbed this intelligence. "But Imperatrix! That will mean the end of the Universe!"

"Yes, Gladiator, that will mean the end of the Universe." She said this simply, as if she were speaking to a hatchling. Gladiator took no offense.

"What do we do?" he replied. Lilandra almost laughed. Her old friend, totally practical, confident that any problem had the appropriate solution. Even Galactus. Even the Crystal.

"There is precious little we _can_   do, dear friend. Apart from taking the Guard to the Crystal--which I think is a meet thing to do. I too shall go. But it will probably be that the only thing we can do is die there like Imperials."

Gladiator looked hard for a second. "If that is what we do, then that is what we do."

She smiled. "I shall be glad to die with you, if that is what occurs in the end. I can think of no one whom it would be a greater privilege to see the end of all that is with."

He relaxed slightly. "It would be my honor--Lilandra."

"Yes." She smiled again, a little more openly. "The Supremor says that he is attempting one last throw of the dice in this game. He would not tell me what it consisted of, only that there is a cosmic player that has not yet been utilized."

"That sounds odd, Imperatrix. I wonder to what he is referring."

"I don't know. I know only that all will be revealed when we reach the Crystal."

* * *

Reed Richards was back in the Baxter Building. The destruction in Washington was overwhelming, beyond description. But he had done what he could there, for the moment. He had to concentrate now on the danger to the Universe itself. In pursuance to that, he had to speak with a certain individual. He turned on his visionphone, and a moment later saw the masked visage of Victor von Doom glaring at him.

"My God, Richards--you fools almost destroyed everything!"

Reed sighed. He didn't know he could be this tired. "Almost, Victor, but not quite. It is sufficient, nevertheless. I have just been in Washington. It is--indescribable."

"I can imagine. Well, I feel for those people, Richards--and those in Moscow, as well. When _I_ am arranging matters, there shall be no more danger of nuclear war."

"The world will no doubt be grateful," Reed said a bit testily. "But Victor--with the Sentinels destroyed, the danger to the mutants from that corner is removed. Now, we have as our priority Miss Grey and Miss Gianelli. And what they represent."

"Oh?" Doom challenged. "And just precisely _do_   they represent, Richards?"

"Death," Reed said. "And resurrection."

"The Phoenix," Doom said. "Richards--I must admit, this is a notion that intimidates even _me._ I wonder if it is not too big for all of us."

Reed was astonished to hear Victor von Doom say that _anything_ was too "big" for him. "It is not too big for Miss Grey," he said. "It cannot be. For, Victor--she is the only hope we have. Any of us, in the entire Universe."

"You think so?" Doom said. "Why?"

"Because I have just spoken to Marr-Vell again," he said. "He has confided in me. The Crystal is dying, as you know."

"I do," Doom said. "And have you come up with any bright ideas as to how to fix it?"

"I? No. But that doesn't matter. Victor--do you know who Galactus is?"

Doom thought, then looked Reed in the eyes. "The power so overwhelming that Mrs McCoy refused to even tell me about it."

"Yes. And Victor--it's heading for the Crystal. It intends to _eat_ it. Absorb its energy."

"Then God help us." Doom paused. "Richards, I need to come to New York. To the Baxter Building. For the foreseeable future, until this crisis passes one way--or another. The two of us should be able to figure out something."

Reed almost laughed out loud. "You took the words right out of my mouth, old friend. By all means, come. We could use you."

"Excellent," Doom said. Then: "But why do you and this Marr-Vell say that Miss Grey is the key to it all? Can _she_   defeat Galactus, for God's sake?"

"If she can't, no one can," Reed said. "Marr-Vell was clear. She is the Avatar. And she must ascend to her destiny _now_ , in the immediate future."

Doom was silent for a moment. "I shall be in New York within a few hours."

"And you'll be welcome."

* * *

Maria watched Professor Xavier as she told him what was happening to her. Watching for those subtle signals that he knew what it all meant, that he wasn't really concerned. But she wasn't seeing them, and that was making her panic. "Sir?" she asked in a small voice. "Is there anything you can tell me?"

The Professor looked exhausted, anxious, sad. Maria felt guilty over adding to his burdens at a time like this, but Hank had been right. This couldn't be delayed. He smiled weakly at her.

"Maria--I must admit, I'm not sure what to make of all this. I know very well what dreams can sometimes mean...in this case..." He shut his eyes, rubbed them. "You believe this has something to do with alternate realities?" he asked, voice slightly disbelieving.

"I do, sir," she said. "It isn't like this is something I've read about; it's like something I've _experienced._ " Walter Lawson, the Professor's friend who for some reason was along with them on this nightmare trek to Washington, leaned over and spoke softly to the Professor, and Maria could only make out individual words--"crystal", "blink", and one word that went through Maria like an electric shock: "Phoenix". Maria _knew_ that word, knew that it portended something just beyond her comprehension. Why was all this happening? Why was she suddenly understanding things she had never so much as dreamed of before? She looked at the Professor, desperately hoping he had some answers.

Lawson rose, and walked to one side. The Professor blinked, once, twice, and Maria's heart broke as she saw how exhausted he truly was. "Maria--I believe you. I must, because Marr-Vell does."

"Marr-vell, sir?" she asked, looking at Lawson.

"Indeed. Maria--'Walter Lawson' is in reality Captain Marr-Vell of the Kree Imperial Navy."

"Wow," Maria said softly. " _There's_ something you don't hear every day." She looked at "Lawson". "I'm glad to know you. I guess."

Marr-Vell smiled. "You don't seem very curious as to just who the 'Kree' are, Miss Gianelli."

"No, I guess I don't," Maria said. "That's because I'm pretty sure I already know." She looked at Marr-Vell again, but closer this time. "You were sent by the Supreme Intelligence, weren't you?"

There was a dead silence. The Professor suddenly didn't look exhausted anymore, Marr-Vell looked shocked, and Hank caught his breath. He looked at Maria, stricken. _He knows,_ Maria thought to herself. _He knows that I'm beginning to remember. Just what he doesn't know yet. Just what,_ _I_ _don't know yet. But I am remembering, and he knows it's the beginning of the end. I love you, Hank._

Marr-Vell finally found his voice. "How did you know that, Miss Gianelli?"

Tears were streaming down her eyes. _Cut it out, you freak. Just stop it._ "I don't know. I just do." She looked at the Professor. "Sir--something is happening to me. I am remembering things I never learned. Except that I did. I am coming into--communion, that's the best word I can think of--with someone else. Someone who knows things I do not. What, who, this someone is I don't know. But the two of us are becoming one. Professor--I'm scared. Really scared."

"So am I, child," he said, all the compassion and love in the world in his voice. "So am I." Hank came over and took her hand, kissing it. She hugged him, and all of her desperate desire for love, for a life of her own, was in that hug--a life that she felt slipping away from her more and more every minute. She was crying, and Hank was crying, and all of a sudden Jean was there, and she hugged Maria too, and Maria couldn't take this, Jean here, and she sat on the ground and put her head in her hands and began to keen, moaning softly. Jean and Hank leaned over and whispered words to her that she couldn't hear but had their effect all the same, because she was able to get back on her feet after a minute--and she realized, in just that minute, that still more of who, what, she thought she had been was gone. _The truth shall set you free._ That was what Hank had said, wasn't it? It seemed like a century ago that he had told her that... Her life as an X-Man, even up to the adventure with the Sentinels, all that already seemed like a dim, misty memory of long ago. She was something different than what she had been. And where she was going, God alone knew.

The other X-Men had joined them by now, and despite everyone's exhaustion and despair, they gathered around Maria and gave her love and support. All of them--Scott, Warren, Bobby, Alex, Lorna--all hugged her. Finally, Maria trudged back over to the Professor.

"Sir?" she asked. "I don't know what we should do right now. Other than lie down and wait for whatever is happening to be finished with. What do you want me to do, sir?"

The Professor had changed since Maria had spoken to him, just a few moments before. He looked at Marr-Vell, and then at Jean before answering Maria. "I'll tell you what we're going to do, girl. We're all going back to the Mansion. _Now._ There is nothing else for us here. Nothing. We'll all get some sleep. As much as we need. We shall need it. And then--" He shook his head. "Then, what needs to be done will be manifest, I'm hoping." He took Maria's hands. "Maria--whatever befalls, please know that I love you. As much as if you were my own daughter. You have blessed my life, all of our lives. And no matter what, I shall be here for you. Always."

Maria laughed weakly. "Sir--? That sounds like my epitaph. You know something I don't?"

"Yes, my darling child, I do. And so do you." He paused. "And so does Jean. But neither of you know what it is yet. Not quite."

Jean had heard this last part. "Sir?" she said, looking at the Professor, then Maria. "What do you mean?"

The Professor put his arms out, and Jean went into them and he hugged her. "What I said to Maria goes for _you,_ too, my darling. You and Maria are like sisters, and both of you are like daughters to me. Whatever befalls, I am here for you."

Jean smiled at Maria. "You know what he's talking about?" And gave an odd little laugh that didn't sound convincing, even to her. Maria sighed.

"I think so, Jean. I think I do, God help us all."

"Would you care to enlighten _me,_ then?"

Maria looked at the Professor, then at Marr-Vell. "We all need some sleep. After that--what is happening will be obvious, I think."

* * *

Maria McCoy was in her machine room, and heard the howling of Lucy outside the door. She opened the door with a stretch of her arm, but Lucy remained on the threshold, still crying. Lucy did not like this room. She sensed that there were things in here that didn't _fit_ into her own prosaic world. She would occasionally come into the room to explore, but usually left soon after--usually with her fur up, her tail extended, and a hiss in her mouth. Maria, too, wasn't really a prosaic part of Lucy's world, if it came to that--but Lucy had come to understand _her_   all too well. This room, though--it remained alien to her, a chamber from another time and place altogether. And she wasn't shy about letting Maria know her displeasure, if the latter spent too much time in here away from her proper function in life--pampering Lucy. As, indeed, she was doing now. Maria sighed, turned off her computers and monitors, and left the room. Lucy made one last howl of disgust-- _where the hell have_ _you_ _been?_   she asked--and started to purr, to let Maria know that this hadn't been a terminally offensive infringement of their agreement. Maria picked the cat up and gently pulled her tail. Lucy was the only cat she had ever known who liked having her tail pulled. If she didn't have it done a certain number of times every day, the Toy came out, usually in a place where, when Maria saw it, she knew she was in trouble. Maria laughed and gently stroked Lucy's ears.

She took Lucy to the living room, and sat down in the rocker, the kitten in her lap. Lucy knit a nest and curled up, and was asleep in a minute. Maria envied her her equanimity. Her own sleep had been more and more problematic of late. _The girl is reaching out to me. We are increasingly in resonance with each other. As she and Jean were when they explored their sexuality, and Maria displayed the Phoenix Raptor. But it is far more advanced in our case. Of course! Why shouldn't it be?_

Knowing what was happening made it no easier. This must be happening to all of them, one way or another--the infinite number of Maria's, of Da'aths, sent back by Phoenix in 2012 into the past. And the paradoxes persisted. _She_   remembered nothing of the sort from _her_   past, when the events that paralleled these happened in the Primal Timeline. And the reason why was obvious. The endless circle--the snake with the tail in its mouth-- Maria bent her head, feeling old, sad, lonely beyond imagining. Phoenix had created Da'ath. Maria Gianelli had lived a long and full life, serving Jean as she had been created to do. Then Jean realized what had happened, and sent her back. And in doing so, Maria had resonated somehow with her past incarnation. They were slowly becoming one--something that had _not_ happened to the Primal Maria. Da'ath had had its--no, dammit, _her_ \--function, her role within the Tree of Life. _Knowledge._ Maria laughed. Oh, _she_ had plenty of _that,_ all right! Then she shook her head. Since Da'ath did signify knowledge, then she, Maria, had it too. But it was a tricky word, when you got right down to it.

_The Unknown. The Abyss. Did Jean realize this, when she sent me back to 1964?  Of course she did. She realizes everything._

The moment that she, Maria McCoy, had appeared on April 1, 1964, the Universes were changed. In a way they hadn't been for the creation of Da'ath, and the appearance of the younger Maria, several weeks later. The essential creation of Da'ath had happened in 1968, though reflections of the event were present in all the other appearances of Phoenix in the Crystal, from 1875 through 2052. But there had been a Platonic Essence to her, the Maria of the Primal Timeline, that preserved her inviolability. She had been unique, and lived her life without any other shadows. Now, though, all of the other Marias were being affected by her presence in their realities. And they were...resonating.

Maria was getting a headache thinking of this. Her existence was at "right angles" to the rest of the Universe. She had amassed temporal "potential"--indeed, this was the main reason why Jean had exiled her to the past. She was to use it to smooth the entrance of Phoenix into the Crystal. She had thought she had four years to prepare for that. But in this world, that event was happening _now._ And Jean wasn't even Phoenix yet. And just how was _that_   going to happen, anyway? She hadn't been killed fighting the Sentinels, as Maria had been certain would happen. Maria--the younger one--sensed that that was supposed to happen, too. Yet it hadn't, and the girl was having nightmares about it. Was this part of their growing resonance--was the girl getting these nightmares, flashes of alternate realities, from _her?_   But Jean, in the Primal Timeline, became Phoenix after fighting a later generation of Sentinels--Steven Lang's. And returning the X-Men to Earth in a Space Shuttle. _Not_ fighting Bolivar Trask's Sentinels. But then--once Maria realized how chronology was different here, she might have subconsciously realized that it would all be different. That _now_   was the time Jean was "meant" to die. And be reborn. But in that case--why hadn't she been killed?

Too much. All, too much. If the girl Maria was getting into communion with _her_ \--and obviously, she was--then the girl would also be connecting soon to her true self--Da'ath. She was remembering more every day, almost every minute. And if they _were_   in "resonance"--then her, Maria McCoy's, temporal energy that she had stored up would soon be at the younger one's service. And at that moment, Maria realized what would be done with it.

Maria McCoy laughed. The true reason for Phoenix sending her back to the past was finally plain to her. And what she had to do. As plain as the nose on her face.

* * *

Lila Cheney looked around her. Her "safe house" on Imperial Center was abandoned, thank God. The last thing she needed was D'Ken's snoops getting onto her. She thought she was safe, but one never knew. She looked out into the street--and froze. The square she faced--it no longer had a giant poster of D'Ken, beaming down as benevolently as Lenin ever had in Red Square. Instead, a poster of Lilandra was beaming in his place.

"Well, I'll--be-- _damned,_ " she said to herself. "Bloody hell! They've come to their senses!" She laughed, and left her cubby hole and walked the streets. So many different alien races gathered together on Imperial Center that she attracted no notice. Even having the misfortune of being a mammal was no more than a very occasional nuisance. Her path this day led into the Imperial Guard Complex, and the door to the quarters of a certain individual. She looked around, and gave a knock--three short, one long--dum-dum-dum-dahhhh, the opening notes of Beethoven's Fifth. Hopefully, her quarry was at home--

\--Which he was. A green-skinned figure opened the door, and stared at her. Not, Lila, realized, with a great deal of warmth. "Mentor?" she said with a smile that he did not return.

Mentor sighed. "Come in, Lila." She did so, and Mentor took her to a living room, sat her down and gave her an Imperial _Trosada,_ which beat Tequila all hollow. He joined her, then asked with an air of resignation: "All right, Lila. Why are you here? I must tell you, this is not a good time. We're all leaving Imperial Center very soon."

Lila nodded. "Of course you are. For the M'Kraan Crystal."

Mentor, in his cool, intellectual way, was astonished. And he even showed it. His smile froze, and he gripped his glass a little tighter. For him, that was a major show of emotion. "Lila--I know you get around. No, no--I wasn't trying to be funny. But _this!_   I really must insist on knowing how you were aware of this."

Lila laughed. "From the Supreme Intelligence. I've done favors for him over the years. As I have for many races, including the Shi'ar. He's taken me into his confidence. About the Crystal, about Galactus. About the impending end of the Universe."

Mentor frowned. "Indeed. Well, Lila, that is very interesting. Are you planning on being there in person when Galactus destroys the Imperial Guard, eats the Crystal, and ends everything?"

"Wouldn't miss it for the world. Where _else_ should I be, may I ask?"

"Of course." Mentor drained his glass, and astonished Lila by filling it again. "Has the Supreme Intelligence informed you of anything else?"

"He has, actually. He has said that the Universe is about to be transformed--one way or another."

"Oh?" Mentor said, manifestly unimpressed. "I wonder what the old faker means."

"Are you aware of his prophecy--that _my_   race--Earth people--are ultimately the superior of both Kree and Skrull?"

He shrugged. "I have heard of it. So has Gladiator, I might add. Neither of us take it too seriously. It seems vague and far over the horizon. I might add that _we_   are neither Kree nor Skrull, in any event, and thus it doesn't affect us at all."

"Doesn't it?" Lila said softly. "That might be a mistake, Mentor."

"How so?" he asked impatiently. "Lila, I really must be getting ready--"

"Because," Lila went on coolly, "an Earth woman is the only hope of saving the Universe, Mentor. And she is the mortal Avatar of the Phoenix Force."

Mentor turned a shade of whitish green. "Shyrra preserve us! Lila--you _know_   this?"

"The Supremor does," she said. "And if she succeeds--well, it _isn't_   'over the horizon', is it?"

"No," Mentor said. "No, it certainly is not. And this is the only hope?"

"It is." She paused. "And this Earth girl, the Avatar--she is like me. A mutant."

Mentor laughed--bitterly, Lila thought. "Of course she is. _That_   would follow, would it not?"

"As you say." Lila got up. "Thanks for the drink. And congratulations, by the way, for dumping Beakface. Lilandra at least is sane."

"Yes. Yes, indeed. It was long overdue." Mentor rose, and stared at Lila with a look of wonder on his face. "Lila--why did you come here, anyway?"

"You've been a good friend, Mentor. You've saved my life, and kept my sanity, more than once. I just wanted you to know the score. And to know that there is an ace in the hole."

"Phoenix! If _that_   is our 'ace'..." He shook his head. "No matter. Is even _that_   enough, against--Him?"

"If it isn't, then there is no hope."

"No. No, I suppose there isn't." Lila kissed him, somewhat to his surprise, and pleasure, and left the Imperial Guard Complex. She walked past the poster of Lilandra again--just to see that it was still there, that this was all real--and a moment later she was back in Brooklyn, with the Brotherhood. Magneto smiled when he saw her.

"Ah. Our prodigal is back. Anything interesting, Lila?"

"Everything I do is interesting, Magnus. You should know that."


	82. "I Am Phoenix!"

Chapter Eighty-two

* * *

Maria woke up, and knew immediately that the transformation had continued, even accelerated, as she slept. She lay there, paralyzed, letting it all wash over her like a wave. She no longer felt like an X-Man, like one of the team. Whatever she was, she was an alien, out of place where she was. And _when._

With a sigh, she finally rose and saw the afternoon sun streaming into her room. She looked at her watch... My God, she had slept fourteen hours straight. She went into the bathroom, and came out feeling numb. She sat on the edge of the bed, and deliberately made an effort to think back on her life. But the days before her joining the X-Men--the Torches and Pitchforks, the belknapping, her mother, her father, her childhood, all of it...she could see them, but it was like remembering a movie she had seen. They didn't seem _personal._ This no longer scared her, nothing scared her anymore. She had transcended fear. What was, was. And what was to be, was to be.

A gentle knock on the door, which she recognized. "Come in, Jean." The door opened, and Jean Grey was there, wearing a white summer dress, and a look on her face that Maria guessed had been on Christ's face as he contemplated Calvary. Maria ran to her friend and hugged her, kissed her, and Jean reciprocated, and the two girls sobbed in each other's arms for minutes before breaking apart.

"Jean--oh, Jean." Maria rubbed the tears away from her eyes. "My darling Jean. You are everything to me. I love Hank, love him with all my heart. But _you_ are my soul. You are why I exist."

Jean looked unhappy, but not uncomprehending. "Oh, Maria--how can that be?" But her voice showed her understanding, and Maria nodded.

"Yes, dear. Yes. Everything is coming to a head now. You must know now that I'm not--never really was--like one of you. I was never really an X-Man at all."

"No! No, don't say that!" And Jean Grey began sobbing again, and Maria let her get it out of her system. "Maria--you've been our heart. Our guiding star. Without you, we would have been--"

"--Just fine," Maria said with a smile. "You would all have been just fine."

"No we wouldn't have been," Jean said miserably. " _I_   wouldn't have been. Maria--I needed you. Hank needed you. We _needed_   you."

"Maybe so, Jean," Maria said gently. "That, after all, is why you created me."

Jean stopped dead. "Maria--don't say that."

"Why not, Jean?"

"Because I'm starting to think it might be true."

Maria laughed, for a moment sounding to her own ears like the Maria of old. "Why, Red, I do believe you're getting positively Zen-like! Maybe we should look up Artesia and consult _her._ "

Jean smiled, but with a trace of sadness in it. "Those were fun days, Maria. Remember your showing up at the Coffee-a-Go-Go as 'Anna'? And astounding the boys?"

"I remember, Jean," Maria said softly. Jean began crying again.

"I'm scared, Maria. Really scared."

"I know, Jean. I know, my darling."

"The Professor. Lawson--or Marr-Vell, I guess we call him. Reed Richards. Even Dr Doom! _He's_   been here this morning! Maria--they all want something of me. Expect something of me. And I don't know what! Just that--that--" Jean shivered, and Maria took her in her arms.

"That it's connected to the Stranger," Maria said. "And that bird form that enveloped me when we faced him."

"Yes," Jean said in a small voice. "There's something terrible happening. I've only caught bits and pieces of it--but they need _me_   to do something. Maria--I can't! I don't know how to do this thing! And Scott--I don't want to leave Scott!" And Jean cried again, but this time it was the sound of a little girl crying, desperately seeking the security of a loved one who was gone forever. Maria held her and crooned into her ear and reassured her, but she couldn't lie, either. The security Jean seeked _was_ gone, and was never returning. Even if everything happened the way it needed to to save everything, Jean Grey would never have what she had had even a week ago. And she would never have--

Maria considered. Should she tell her this, now? Yes. However upset Jean was, there was no more time for evasions or false hopes. _The truth shall set you free._ Maria almost laughed. The truth! _What is truth? said jesting Pilate, and would not stay for an answer._ "Jean--"

"Yes, Maria?"

"We will be friends for many, many years. There shall be breaks in that friendship--long ones--and many tears and heartaches. Things shall happen that transcend life--and death."

"I don't understand, Maria."

"I know. I don't, either--not really. And I don't quite know how I know this. But it is true, nonetheless."

"Is it, Maria?" Jean said with a tear-filled smile. "If you say so."

Maria shook her head sadly. "But Jean--I don't say so. Not anymore. I can't. Because if you are going to do what you need to, you are going to have to subtract me from the equation. Sacrifice me, to win the game. And when you do, none of that will ever be--or have been."

Jean Grey didn't answer for some time. "No, Maria. No, that's ridiculous. How can you never have existed? You're here, now, very much in the flesh--or whatever the hell it is that you are."

"Yes," Maria said, so softly that Jean had to strain to hear. "Yes. I _am_   here."

"Of course you are. So how--?"

"I don't know. Yet. But I shall, and soon. I am knowing more and more, dear Jean."

Jean looked at the floor. She looked up. "Maria--I don't think I _can_   do that. Sacrifice you, I mean. I can't. I love you too much."

Maria broke down, and now it was Jean's turn to hold her in _her_   arms. Finally, Maria was able to look her friend in the face. "Jean--once, on the Moon, you told--will tell--me that you couldn't fight it anymore. That if I didn't take a certain action, you would end your own life, if you had the courage and strength. I took that action. Now I am telling you--you must take an action, and soon. It will part us forever. I don't think I have the strength to do it myself. _You_   must, my dear. Jean--you must be strong. Because _everything_   depends upon it."

Jean was silent for some time. "This is the last private talk we shall ever have," she finally said, a statement, not a question.

"It is, Jean."

"Then I shall do as you ask, Maria," Jean said. She stood up as straight as a statue. "I have no existence anymore. Even Scott--" She looked about to break down, but kept herself together. "I am life, and death. Fire, and transformation. I am beginning to understand certain things, Maria. I don't know how, or why--or even if there is a 'why'. Or how to get there. Not yet. But I am beginning to understand."

"Jeannie--you have to be what you have to be."

Jean licked her lips, and Maria's heart thought it would break. "Maria--"

"Yes, Jean?"

"Will you be with me to the end? The very end?"

"Oh, of course!"

"Good." Jean walked to the door. "That will make it easier." She looked at her friend, and Maria felt that Christ contemplating Calvary, suddenly, was an inadequate description of how Jean Grey looked right then. "I love you, Maria."

"I love you, Jean." And Jean Grey was gone. Maria lay on her bed, paralyzed, wishing it was all over.

* * *

Charles Xavier, Marr-Vell, Victor von Doom, and Reed Richards were meeting in Charles' study. The presence of Doom was less of a distraction than he would have imagined. The masked man was obviously concerned solely with their business; he stuck to the issue; he didn't waste a syllable. And Charles felt that the presence of Reed, incongrously enough, was a positive factor on von Doom's behavior. In any event, the four of them were all dealing with each other as equals.

"The girl must be told," Doom said. "Jean Grey. She cannot be kept in the dark anymore."

"To throw all this at her at once?" Charles said. "It would be too much for her to take."

"Rubbish," Doom said. "She _must_ be told. She must be, because she _must_   do what she must do. Or else it is all over. If she needs to be force-fed, then so be it."

Reed frowned. "I'm afraid he's right, Charles. I believe that time is running out. She must at least be _told._ To begin to prepare."

Charles looked at Marr-Vell. "I take it you agree?"

"I do. _Hala_ help us, Charles, I do."

Charles Xavier shut his eyes, and thought of other, better days. Of his X-Men, and what he hoped for all of them. Of his dream, of a world of humans and mutants co-existing together. Now--

\--Now, other issues crowded out everything. Issues that had always been there, always just crouching over their shoulders, barely whispering their names as the X-Men had lived their lives. But in the end, those issues were the reality. He had realized this, he supposed, ever since the incident with the Stranger. But it had been better to stay willfully ignorant. That was no longer an option.

"Very well," he said. "But this is something that must be discussed with all of my X-Men, together. Not just Jean."

"Of course," Reed said gently, and Charles saw even Doom nod his head. He mentally summoned the team, and in five minutes they were all gathered together in the living room. The X-Men were startled by the figure of Dr Doom, but he stood by the entrance to the hall, arms folded, immobile as a statue. Charles looked at them. Scott--his first X-Man. He was sitting by Jean, looking lost, already sensing things he didn't understand. Jean herself, staring straight ahead, as though she were staring at things no one else could see, much less comprehend. Warren, looking at him anxiously, as if Charles Xavier could make the uncertainties of the past week go away with a wave of a magic wand. Bobby, very quiet and unsure of himself. Hank, looking at Maria with an expression that broke Charles' heart. He already knew on some level that the girl was lost to him. Maria, staring at the floor. No longer the girl whom he had nurtured and loved this past year. Someone--something--alien. Alex and Lorna, sitting together, hand-in-hand and looking around uncomprehendingly. His love for these young people threatened to overwhelm all else for a second. Then he cleared his throat, and spoke.

"My X-Men--you will note the presence of Reed Richards, of Victor von Doom, the King of Latveria, and of Walter Lawson, whom you are now aware is really Captain Marr-Vell of the Imperial Kree Space Navy. We are gathered here to discuss something of supreme importance to us all."

The X-Men looked at each other. There was more understanding in their glances than Charles would have thought. The events of recent days had reached all of them, on one level or another. Warren turned to him.

"Professor--is this the end of the X-Men? Is that what you're trying to tell us?"

Charles blinked, to keep away tears. "Warren--my dear boy--I sincerely hope not. But it is certainly the end of the X-Men you have all known. And that is if we succeed. If we fail, then nothing will matter, because nothing shall exist anymore."

Dead silence. "What do you mean, sir?" Hank asked very quietly.

"Hank--all of you--there is a world at the far end of our Galaxy. The world has no name, but on it is something called the M'Kraan Crystal. It is the hub of all existence, the fulcrum of all realities, all time-lines. There are, as you know by now, thanks to Dr Richards' lectures, infinite time-lines. They all meet within the Crystal. They all intersect there. It is the place where Everything is, simultaneously."

Charles risked a quick glance at Jean. Who continued to look off into her horizons, seemingly oblivious to what Charles was saying. He wondered if he could get through all this without his heart breaking.

"The Crystal is guarded by a race of beings called the Shi'ar. It lies within their Imperium. And the Crystal has been breaking down. Three times so far, in the past few months, there have been blinks in the cosmic fabric. Small amounts of time have been--well, erased, is the only word that fits. If this continues, there is a very grave danger that all of time--all of existence as we know it--might be swallowed up in the maw of the Crystal. That we might be seeing the end of the Universe."

The faces of the X-Men paled. Even Jean, Charles noted, was paying attention now. Only Maria seemed to be hearing a voice of her own, one that Charles couldn't fathom. He risked a slight look into her mind--and found, to his shock, that she was unreadable to him.

"There is more." He turned to Marr-Vell. "Captain--if you will?" Marr-Vell, wearing his uniform, stood in front of the students and bowed.

"X-Men--there is a great cosmic force that can be called Galactus, if you must give it a name at all. This force destroys whole planets. It devours the living energies of worlds. This is a force that must needs exist and play its role in the Universe, though that is a thought that seems cruel--even nightmarish. But it is true, all the same. It is this force that now threatens the world of the Crystal. It is heading there, and intends to devour the Crystal and its world as it gets closer and closer to the point of disintegration. When these cosmic blinks reach the crisis point, Galactus shall enter the Crystal and feed on its energies. Thereby triggering the collapse of all realities, and ending the Universe as we know it."

There was an absolute silence. The X-Men looked at each other, appalled. Finally, Lorna shook her head. "Professor Xavier--what can _we_   do about something this huge and terrible? What can _anyone_ do?"

Charles sighed. "That is a very good question, Lorna. All I can say is, there is one hope, and one only. Marr-Vell came here to Earth to see if he could trigger this hope, and I believe it is the only thing that may save all of existence. And it directly involves us."

The X-Men looked at each other in bewilderment. "Professor?" Scott said. "What do you mean, 'us'? How can _we_   deal with something _this_ big?"

And it was Hank who said it. "The Stranger," he said. "That bird of fire."

"Oh my God!" Warren said. "Maria? You mean _she_   has some role to play?"

Charles almost began to cry. "I believe that Maria _does_   have a role to play, Warren," he said softly. "But no, not in the sense you mean. That firebird was the raptor of a force known as the Phoenix. A force of overwhelming power, that embodies destruction--and creation. That can transcend death itself. It has chosen for itself a mortal Avatar. This mortal does not yet know who, what it is, what its destiny must be. But our time has run out. If any of us are to survive, the Phoenix--and its Avatar--must come forth."

Scott's agitation was pitiful, as he knew everything but didn't dare admit it to himself. "Professor--for God's sake- _-who?_   Who is it, and what are they to do?"

Jean stood up, and walked over to Charles. "Sir--I am ready. I do not yet understand everything, but time is short. What do you want me to do?" Charles looked at her, and found tears blurring his vision. He looked at Marr-Vell, watching the girl with undisguised admiration, at Reed, who seemed stunned even though he knew what must happen, at Doom, who remained as motionless as a statue, though he did glance briefly at Maria. Who in her turn looked desperately unhappy. The others were open-mouthed with shock. And Charles finally risked looking at Scott, then looked away. The boy had the expression on his face of one whose world had already disintegrated beneath his feet. And Charles Xavier was afraid that such was indeed the case.

* * *

Scott Summers felt as if he had been kicked in the stomach. He couldn't speak, could barely breathe. _Jean?_   The girl he loved stood, tall and proud, before the Professor and asked what he wanted her to do. _Jean--am I going to lose you?_   And no sooner had he said this to himself than he realized the truth--he already _had_ lost her. She wasn't the girl whom he loved anymore. Or perhaps she never had been, not really. But none of that mattered. What mattered was that he did love her, whoever she was, and she was going into indescribable danger.

The Professor had to pause a moment before he could speak. "Jean--I've never been prouder of anyone than I am of you, right this instant. Yes. It is true. You are the Phoenix--or at least, its mortal Avatar. Yes, my dear, it is up to _you_   to save everything. If you cannot, then all hope is lost."

She nodded, as if the logic of this was obvious. "Very well then, sir." She looked at Marr-Vell. "What do I need to do, Captain?"

"Jean," the Kree replied, "the honest truth is--I don't know! None of us do yet." He looked Jean over carefully. "You _must_   embrace what your destiny is. And our time, quite honestly, has run out. But what you have to do is _so_ indescribable, so alien to your notions of 'common sense', that I'm not sure how we even begin."

"Galactus," Jean said softly. "What is he, really, Captain? How do I overcome _him?_ "

Marr-Vell, Scott thought, looked haunted. "Jean--I can't even describe him. Words are literally inadequate. To speak of him as a 'person', a 'being', at all is misleading. He is power, and he transcends power. To even think of having you opposing him..."

"...is exactly what I _have_ to be thinking of," she said with an edge to her voice. "Please! Let us quit talking about how awful it all is. It does me no good, and makes all of us feel paralyzed. And we need all our faculties, working together. Captain--what do you _know_   of this 'Phoenix', anyway? What reason is there to think that it-- _I_ \--can overcome Galactus? Or heal this Crystal, if it comes down to it?"

Marr-Vell smiled. "Well-spoken, girl! Practical and eminently sensible. And you're right, that is what we need. At least until you enter the Crystal. Then--then, no one can say with any certainty what will happen. As for Phoenix--the Force has manifested itself many times in cosmic history. But always _as_ a Force, never before as a mortal with an Avatar. So I'm not entirely sure how its history is relevant. But--" He turned to the Professor. "Charles--use your telepathy to connect the two of us, and let Jean read my mind. I'll tell her everything I know of the Phoenix." The Professor nodded, and Jean took Marr-Vell's hand, and Scott watched as Jean's face got redder and redder, and her expression became more and more agitated. Finally she broke off, and began to cry.

"Oh my God! How can I--" She shook her head. "How can I deal with _that?_ " She turned to the Professor. "Sir--this is impossible! I didn't know what I was saying--"

But she stopped, because Maria had walked over to her friend and took her hands in her own grainy, powerful ones. "Jeannie--darling--no. No, now it's _you_ talking about 'how awful it all is'. You _shall_   master the Force, because you _have_ mastered the Force."

"How do you know this, Maria?" the Professor said, but Scott--all of them--realized what her answer would be before she spoke it.

"Because, Professor, where _I_   come from, she has." Scott saw Hank blink away tears, and he knew what his friend was going through. Scott's own tears, underneath his damned visor, were misting up his vision. Professor Xavier nodded sadly.

"I've been wondering if something of the sort wasn't true, Maria," he said. "The invisible chess player... You aren't the girl we've known this past year, are you?"

"Oh, I'm her all right, sir. But I'm more, as well. And I now know everything I have to know." She turned to Jean. "Jean--I tell you this. You _will_   reach your level of transcendance, because you _must._ You _have._ In my world--in the _real_   world--it is history. Jeannie, you are having the fears right now of a caterpillar about to transform itself. Or a baby about to emerge from its mother's womb. _It will happen._ "

Hank couldn't take anymore. "Maria," he said, standing up and taking her hands. "Dearest Maria--are you--I mean--"

Maria kissed him. "Darling Hank," she said, a smile of ancient wisdom on her strange, unformed face that Scott realized, with a start, was astonishingly beautiful--as much so as Jean's, in its way. "I'm not the girl you knew, yet I am. But I am so much more, too. Hank--I never really existed."

He nodded with comprehension. "I've been realizing that these past few days, Maria. But..."

"I know," she said. "I know. Hank--as long as I've lived, as long as I've existed, I've loved you. As long as I've been here. That will have to do for us. Because soon, my existence shall end. It shall be as if I never was."

There was dead silence. Hank began to cry, and Maria hugged him. "No," he was finally able to say. "No, Maria! It can't be _that_   cruel."

"It has to be what it must be, Henry. You will never know what you've lost--except maybe at night, in your dreams, a ghost of a whisper will come to you. That will have to suffice." She kissed him again. "Hank--you're strong. You were meant to be whole. To be disgustingly sane. And you shall be. I have no worries at all about you." Hank made no answer, merely shook his head and sat down, too moved to speak.

Warren made a stricken sound. "My God! Candy!" He rose. "I've got to get to her--" He looked around, confused, struck to the heart. Jean smiled at Maria, at him, and went over and kissed him.

"No, dear friend. No. Maria is right. Maybe, somewhere, somewhen, you two will get together again. But for now--let it rest. What you've had must be enough."

Warren laughed through his tears. "You're something, you know, Red? You know I loved you, too." He turned to Scott. "I hope you're not jealous, Scott. Because right now, I couldn't endure what you're enduring." Scott found he wasn't able to answer, just nodded and sank back on the couch. He was too exhausted emotionally to think. Every second, every instant, existed in its own universe. There was no past, no future. Just _her-_ -Jean--standing in front of him, every gesture, every sound she made, unique and irreplaceable. He wouldn't miss a single moment of it. He watched, as she went over to Lorna and Alex.

"You two," she said with a smile on her face. "I believe that _you_ two are invincible. Immortal. Both of you--you'll be all right. Trust me, OK?"

Lorna's tears were running down her face unchecked, but she managed a smile. "Hey, Red--your word is enough for me." She turned to Alex, who had a very unhappy youthful smile on his face, and kissed him. "That's a guarantee, OK? So let's not be sad, Alex."

"Wouldn't dream of it," Alex said with a short, brittle laugh, and looked at his brother with an expression that Scott found he couldn't respond to. Then Jean came over to him, and he sensed her looking down at him. He opened his eyes, and through the tears saw her watching him with a look on her face that he had never seen before, never even imagined, because it was too beautiful for his limited imagination.

"Scott--you know I love you. There really isn't anything else to say." She put her hands out, and he rose and took them, took her into his arms, and they kissed unashamedly for a time that he could never afterwards remember the duration of, and it didn't matter. Then it was over, and she had a smile on her face that he knew he would never forget.

"What we have had, my darling, has been wonderful beyond words. However much time is left, it must sustain us. I only hope that somehow, in another existence, another world, we shall be there for each other."

Scott heard Maria's voice. "I can reassure you of _that,_ anyway, Red. You two--" She gave a short laugh. "Believe me, you two are stuck with each other. In all realities." Scott thought he heard something in the undertone of her voice, some caveat, but it didn't matter.

"I love you, Jean," was all he could say.

"And I you, my darling. Whatever befalls, I will always be there for you. Always. You must believe that."

"I do, Jean."

"Good." She turned to the Professor, to Marr-Vell, to Reed, to Doom. "Gentlemen--I have just learned something. I have learned that your Phoenix is more than a force of destruction and creation. It endures, above all, as love." She walked out into the center of the living room, and as she did so, Scott watched, fascinated, heartbroken, overwhelmed. Jean Grey was changing in front of his eyes. The tall, slim girl in the white summer dress was no more, even though she didn't look physically different yet. But _something_   was happening. She was already more than human--more than mutant. He could sense everyone else in the room watching, feeling the same awe he was. For a second--and only a second, because he was too jealous of every instant of time to take his gaze away from Jean for longer than that--he glaced at Maria. She was as immobile as a statue, and had no expression at all on her face. But she _knew._ Then he looked at Jean again--and gasped. Because she was beginning to catch on fire. Flames leapt up and around her form as she stood there, arms raised, and the fire purged her of her summer dress, of all her clothes. She stood there naked, but there was nothing embarrassing or immodest about it. It simply _was,_ and while her form breathed, exhuded, sexuality there was nothing odd or strange about it. It was inevitable, it was _her._ The flames gathered strength, and she laughed--a low laugh that spoke of time, of life, of death.

"Scott!" she called, and he looked at her, every sense alert, not daring to breathe. "Do not fear! I _am_   love! Your love for me, and mine for you, has triggered what must be. All of you! Know that Jean Grey's love for you all--and yours for her--is the key. We feel it, we sense it!" She moved, a step, another. As she did so, a raptor appeared, in the form of a bird, and took physical form, The raptor surrounded her, and soon it had manifested itself as a garment of green that enveloped her, and Scott gasped and started to cry, as all of them were crying--even Doom--because she was so perfectly herself, because she _was_ Phoenix and Phoenix _was_ her. And in that moment, Scott Summers realized that there was nothing this girl--this woman--this being of perfection--could not do.

 _"X-Men!"_ came a voice that he knew, had heard before, but still was more beautiful than anything he could have imagined, even in his dreams. _"No longer am I the woman you knew! I am fire, and life incarnate! Now and forever, I am Phoenix!"_


	83. The Far End of the Universe

Chapter Eighty-three

* * *

There was dead silence, as a hush of sheer awe came over everyone in the room. Phoenix took stock. The Crystal--yes, of course. There was where her destiny lay. Where she had to go. But not alone. No, Maria must accompany her. She looked at Maria, and saw a smile of understanding there. She returned it, and the two had a moment of communion. And Wanda--she, too, must be there. As must all the X-Men, as well. As for Galactus-- No matter. She would deal with _him_   when she dealt with him. She realized that time was short. And much needed to be done.

Then everything clouded over for a moment, and Jean Grey fell to the floor of the living room. She sensed Scott over her, picking her up in his arms, and soon she was lying on the sofa. It had been too much, for a brief mortal moment. But there was no time for weakness. Jean sat up, and waved off attempts to aid her.

"No," she said in her own voice. "No, all of you. Thanks, but we must act. I'm OK."

"Jean?" Scott said, looking at her new costume. "It _is_   you?"

She laughed. "And who else would it be, Scott? Yes, it's me. As much of 'me' as I'm likely to be from here on in." She stood up and went over to Marr-Vell. "Well, the transformation has happened, Captain. Not as you were expecting, I suppose."

Marr-Vell grinned with an annoyingly knowing air. "I expect nothing, Phoenix. It is for _you_   to teach _me._ All of us."

"Well, Captain, _that_ I have done." She turned to the Professor. "Charles--you must contact Magneto. The Brotherhood. We need them. At least, we need Lila Cheney and Wanda."

Xavier smiled. "It shall be as you say, Jean."

She turned to her fellow X-Men. "My dear friends--I know this is a shock to you. But this is what _must_ be." She walked up to Maria, and took her friend by the hands. "Darling Maria--you are truly ready for this?"

"I am, Jean." Maria's voice was steady, and her eyes were blazing.

"Thank you, dearest." She turned to her teammates again. "My friends--it was your love that triggered this. That made our hope--our only hope--possible. We shall soon be going to the very center of the Universe. All of us. I shall need your help there. Only as a team can we do what must be done." She walked to Reed and Doom. "Gentlemen--your attendance shall be necessary, as well. Are you ready for what is to come?"

Reed smiled laconically. "I believe so, Jean. And whatever befalls, this is a helluva way to go out--if we _are_   going to go out."

Doom, Jean noticed with a trace of amusement, was still emotionally wrought from her transformation. "Miss Grey--I owe you an apology. I had thought--right until this happened--that there was a chance that I might somehow grab this power for myself."

"Oh, I knew that, Victor," Phoenix said softly, a hint of mischief in her voice. "But since I knew that you wouldn't, it didn't bother me all that much."

"No," he said, suddenly amazing everyone--especially Reed--by laughing. "My God! You have been wiser than me from the beginning. Phoenix--I confess, I have been bested." He bowed to her. "I offer you what service I may."

Jean turned to the others. "Guys--don't anyone else _dare_ bow to me." They all laughed, and Jean turned to Doom. "Please, Victor. You'll give me a swelled head. And I don't need _that._ "

"On top of everything else?" Maria said with a laugh, and for a moment she sounded like the Maria of old.

"That's right, you freak!" And the two friends suddenly hugged, and Jean and Maria both knew it would be for the last time. Then they parted, and Jean looked at Charles. "It's time to get the Brotherhood involved, Charles."

"It shall be done." He concentrated mentally, and about thirty seconds later, Magneto, Lila, and Wanda appeared in the garden outside the Mansion. They entered, and gasped when they saw Jean.

"So it's true," Magneto said, voice barely above a whisper. "Jean Grey has become--something else."

"It sure appears so, Eric," Jean said, taking him by the hand. "I'm glad you're here, Eric. And you, Lila. And you, Wanda. It's time. Time for the last act."

* * *

_I'm not sure I like the way this is going, Maria-- Are you saying that this story is a tragedy? With an unhappy ending?_

_Aren't all the great stories, Warren? I mean, really? At heart?_

_I don't want to be part of a tragedy, Maria._

_Sometimes our roles are written for us, Warren._

_No, Maria. No, I don't believe_ _that_ _. We have free will. We can create our futures. We can make a happy ending of our saga. We can. We must._

_I hope so, Warren. But maybe it's like_ _The Lord of the Rings_ _\--evil will be averted, good triumphs--but a price will be paid. A terrible price, one that leaves the survivors bereft even in the world that the hero has saved._

_I don't like that ending. There has to be_ _some_ _way for the Hero and Heroine to have a happy ending._

_Maybe. Maybe in the very long run of things. Maybe even in some context out of the story altogether, in some inconceivable way the characters can't imagine. But the great stories_ _are_ _sad ones, Warren. We have to be prepared for that--we members of the Round Table, who love the Hero and would die for him--or her. But who just might be the ones left on the stage at the end, who have to carry on._

Maria Gianelli smiled gently to herself. Well, she wouldn't be one of the ones to "carry on" after all, would she? Not in the end. And was she the "Heroine"? No, not even that. But she _had_   had a role. _I was here._

Maria was standing the front window of the living room. For the last time, she looked out at the lawn of the Mansion. She remembered the first day she came here--right after Magneto had so nearly killed Jean and herself. She remembered the day the Mad Thinker had exposed her to the rest of the team. No. No good could come of that. Of memory. Stop.

_God--I don't want to die. No, not even die. Just be_ _erased_ _. As if I never existed. And if I never existed, God, then will I have a soul? Will you remember me? No, I can't think about that. I'd get too scared. And I can't be. This is too important. I have to leave fear behind me._

She sensed rather than heard Hank come up to her. "Maria--" he said tentatively, and she stayed turned away from him, shaking her head.

"Hank--please. Don't. There's nothing more to say. And I'm on the edge of breaking. Please."

She felt his hand stroking her sand-paper like hair, and his lips touch her neck for the briefest of seconds. "Fine. I just wanted to say I'm glad you'll be wearing my ring. That's all, Maria. I'm glad of that."

Maria turned to Hank and kissed him passionately. Then she laughed, and cried, and kissed him again. "Well, Henry-- _that,_ at least, remains with me no matter what. Good old unstable molecules!" She took a deep breath. "Wearing your ring at the end of everything is a great privilege, darling. You know that."

Hank looked so lost. Maria wished she could cut open a vein and share some of her blood, so they could be one, here at the end. But she knew better. "Hank--"

"Yes, Maria?"

"Somewhere, somewhen, we have been happy. We have lived a full life--not together always, but most of the time. We have made a daughter together, and she will be lovely and happy. I know this."

Silence. "I'm glad, Maria."

"Yes. Yes, so am I. I thought--will think--have thought--" Maria broke off in confusion. "Dammit! I don't know anymore what thoughts are really mine, and what are those of someone else. But I do know that _we_ were worried that that future, that daughter, might not exist. We were wrong. The Primal Timeline is--well, primal. It _exists._ And I, we, existed within it. That at least cannot be erased. It _cannot._ So, my darling Hank, although I must disappear from all the other timelines, there is one place where we were happy, in a Platonically perfect chronology. That must suffice for us."

"Yes, Maria." Hank smiled. "But what happens to us, the X-Men? To _our_   world?"

Maria was silent for awhile. "God, Hank, I don't know," she finally said. "Maybe when I'm--erased--all universes, all timelines, that contained a 'Maria Gianelli' will slip into cosmic night. And perhaps your essences will shift to a place where you'll go on. Or maybe this world, this timeline, will go on, but without a memory of me or my existence." She paused. "Or maybe there's no difference between the two alternatives. In any event, none of you shall remember me."

"Then it's not worth it," Hank said softly. "Maria--can't I go with you? Be erased, too?"

" _No!_ " Maria hugged Hank. "Darling, please, _please,_ don't say that! If I thought that, I really _couldn't_   go through with this. And I _have_ to!"

Hank sighed. "I know, Maria. I know. Forgive me. A moment of weakness."

"Oh God, Hank, If I can't understand _that_   now--" They kissed again, and watched their world end as its last seconds ticked away.

* * *

Maria McCoy absently rubbed Lucy, who seemed to understand because she didn't make insistent demands. Instead, she purred lightly and rubbed her head against Maria's hand. For once, Lucy behaved like a lady inside the machine room. Maria suddenly laughed.

_It's happened. Jean has become Phoenix. There is a chance. That is all, a chance. But it will have to do. Odd--these are the last hours of my life, yet I am not afraid in the least. Either Jean shall succeed, and I will be erased, or she shall fail--and we will all be erased. But I am happy. I am glad of that._

_And the events I witnessed inside the Mansion have made me happy, too._ _I thought that it would be death that unleashed the Phoenix, like in my world. But it was love, instead. That perhaps makes it better--more likely to endure, whatever happens. I hope so._ Maria shook her head, deep in reverie. _I actually_ _saw_ _Jean die inside the Sentinel base. Saw it, as truly as though it had happened. I_ _saw_ _it. It should have been. But it wasn't. And that is due to Jean herself. Her reaching out to love this time, in this place, was stronger than her desire to reach out to death. Perhaps that was due to me, in some way. If I helped, I am very happy. My younger self absorbed that death scene._ _She_ _felt it was real, too. It has confused her. Well, why not? It has confused me, as well._

Maria watched on the monitor, as the X-Men made their preparations for departure. Instead of the stargate they used in the Primal Reality, they would utilize Lila Cheney's teleportation skills. Good. One less thing for Jean to do, one less thing to exhaust her before her real work even began. Once they departed, she, Maria, would no longer be able to track their progress. But that mattered less than she might have thought. The communion she had established with her younger self would enable her to _know_   what was happening, on a gut level. That would be enough.

She kissed Lucy. The poor thing. What would happen to _her_   if they succeeded, and Maria was gone? Would she be left to her own devices here, at the house? Or would she find herself back at the shelter in Pittsfield where Maria had found her, and knew at once that it would have to be _this_   kitten because she bonded with Maria so totally at first sight? And found herself called "Lucy" because she made Maria laugh, like Lucille Ball did? _And why on earth was I looking for a cat at all, since I_ _knew_ _I wouldn't be here in this world long enough to care for it its whole life? Some sort of impulse, one that led me right to Lucy. I wish I knew the whys and wherefores of that impulse._ "Baby--you'll have to find your own destiny. I hope it's a good one." Lucy looked at her mistress and offered up a _wroarelp,_ and rubbed harder than ever against her. Maria laughed, and feeling suddenly liberated from all cares she looked Lucy in the eyes and addressed her joyfully.

"Oh, little girl, I have enjoyed your company. Thank you so much for being here. I hope it's been as much a privilege for you as it's been for me."

And Lucy purred, as if to say "don't ask silly questions", and fell asleep on Maria's lap. Maria saw Astra return to the Mansion, after making some private goodbyes of her own, and saw everyone congregate together in the front yard for departure. Maria laughed, and cried. There was her younger self, and she could _feel_   the chronal energy that she possessed manifesting itself in the girl. Well, this ultimately was why she was here, wasn't it? So that she--they--could make the final use of her "right angle" from reality time-span.

 _I wonder what this reality that must come about will be like,_ Maria thought. _It will be so different--and yet, not different at all. Will it bear any impress of_ _me-_ _-my personality? After all, my energy is what will have midwived it, along with Wanda--and of course Jean. The three of us._ _There's_ _a Trinity for you! Not exactly Father, Son, and Holy Ghost! Well, it shall be as it shall be. The reflection in the mirror of the Primal Reality. A distorted mirror? Or more like a fun-house mirror, maybe? Now that's an image I like._

Maria thought of Hank McCoy, her husband, and Jeannie McCoy, her daughter. _I was never sure if you would survive, if our love for each other would be erased. I thought I should never know--and that thought was unbearable. Now, though, I do. You_ _shall_ _exist. The Primal Reality has proven itself in the end to be unerasable. What happens there_ _must_ _exist, and nothing can change its history. If Galactus eats the Crystal, it might cease to be--but it cannot have its past changed. Thank God. That is a great consolation. I_ _was_ _here._

* * *

It was time. Maria waited outside the Mansion. By God--she would never see it again. This was the _last_ time she would ever be here. She breathed deeply of the air. This was the _last_   time she would ever breathe the good air of Earth. It was a lovely, clear September day, not hot, a breeze from the east keeping things comfortable. A good day to die. _Thank you, God. For everything you have given me. More than I had any right to expect._ For a moment she thought of Frank, even though she realized by now that there was something not exactly "right" about her memories of him. Just what that was she didn't know, and didn't want to know. Have her memories, true or false, be there to the end. It was too late to try to discover who, what she really was. She liked what she knew. Let that suffice.

She looked at Hank, at Scott, at Warren, at Bobby, at Alex, at Lorna, at the Professor, and finally at Jean. They were all surprisingly upbeat. Even Hank. Even Scott. He caught her looking at him, and he smiled and gave her a thumb's-up sign. She reciprocated, sharing a last moment together. Scott seemed to have shed all fears and despair. He just looked at Jean with awe, joy, wonder, love, and yes, sorrow--but unmixed with bitterness. None of the X-Men seemed bitter, and that was a blessing. There seemed to be almost a feeling of grace surrounding them all. Even Dr Doom shared in this, as he talked quietly with Reed Richards while they waited--the talk of two old friends, men who had drifted apart but now found themselves back together again. The rest of the FF were present, as well. Reed had thought that they should stay behind--that this was somehow _his_ duty, not theirs. Maria smiled to herself. _That_   noble intention had lasted exactly five seconds--long enough for the others to make their opinions known unambiguously. Reed had laughed and acquiesced.

Marr-Vell put his hands up. "Attention!" he said. "All of you--X-Men, Charles, Reed, the Fantastic Four, Victor, Magneto, Wanda, Lila--the time has come." There was a dead silence, as everyone took a last look at the Mansion, the grounds, each other. "Astra--we are ready."

"Of course," said Lila Cheney, and raised her arms, and spread out her power over all of them, and Maria watched until the very last second, and said to herself: _Goodbye, Earth! Goodbye, Frank! Goodbye! I_ _was_ _here!_   And vanished.

* * *

On a world with no name, with an eternal twilight blanketing everything, the new Empress of the Shi'ar, Lilandra, shivered. It felt cold, even though she doubted the actual temperature was really chilly. "Heat" and "cold", like "night" and "day", seemed to be null concepts in this place. Gladiator and the Imperial Guard waited by the opening to the Crystal, Jahf watching over them with a blank expression on his face. There seemed to be nothing to say. Lilandra wondered what dying would be like. Would Galactus eat them, along with the planet, or would he simply blast them into atoms before devouring the Crystal?

It was while they were standing there, waiting, that Lilandra felt the Universe go blank. For an interval of time that seemed timeless, if such a thing were possible, she was--somewhere else. Then she was back, and looked around at the others, a wild expression on her face.

"What happened? What was _that?_ " she asked, and Jahf laughed grimly.

"Another cosmic 'blink', Majestrix," he said lightly. "This time, almost three seconds. _That_   was a narrow escape, actually. The whole Universe came _this_ close-" and he held his finger and thumb an inch apart-- "to just slipping down into the Abyss. I rather suspect that next time, it will."

"Sharrya preserve us," Lilandra said discouragedly. "Then it doesn't really matter what we do here. If Galactus by some miracle does _not_   devour the Crystal, it shall die on its own and take everything down with it anyway."

"It certainly appears so," Jahf said, with a cheerful expression on his face that Lilandra didn't understand.

" _You_   don't look like you regret the prospect," she said with a frown on her face, and the small robot shrugged.

"Majestrix--if the Universe _is_ dying, what a way to go, eh? And what better place to be than Ground Zero-- _here? -_ "

"Ignore him, Majestrix," Gladiator said with a hint of disgust. "He has always been sardonic, especially for a robot. He has never known his place."

"My 'place', my dear barbarian, is right here," Jahf said, seemingly more cheerful than ever. Gladiator ignored him, and went back to his fellow Guardsmen. Lilandra sighed, thinking of her hatchling days, of her upbringing on the Imperial estate, of the days when D'Ken hadn't been mad, had been a true brother, a true Emperor...of the long and proud history of the Shi'ar, and how it ended now, with her. She had not been Empress long, but hopefully she had not disgraced the tradition. She only wished that there would be someone to remember them, who they were, what they had achieved... But no. No, she sighed, there would be nothing, no one, to remember. That was too bad, but it didn't affect their duty. In the end, that was all that mattered.

What was that--? A silver flash, and a figure approaching on a board. Then Galactus was here. So soon. She hoped against hope that there might be a little more time, time for a miracle. But nothing could affect what was to happen. Even the Supreme Intelligence's ace in the hole, it seemed, was not to be played. So be it.

The Surfer flew down low over the Crystal and the Imperial Guard, and halted just above Lilandra. "Majestrix," she heard his voice say, though it sounded very far away. "My Master, Galactus the Devourer of Worlds, bids me inform you that he shall be claiming this world--and the M'Kraan Crystal--as his own, and shall be arriving imminently to absorb its energies. He is aware of the cosmic 'blinks', and shall utilize them to end this Universe and transform all reality into another phase of existence. All you know is at an end. He has spoken; thus must it be."

"We shall not so readily abandon our lives, our existences, Norrin Radd," Lilandra responded formally. "We are prepared to defend our Empire and its peoples, to defend all peoples, though we are sure to fall. Inform your Master of _that._ "

"I shall, though he has already guessed," the Surfer answered, and a silver flash rose into the heavens. Lilandra felt some tears run down her cheeks. Galactus would return in person, very soon. And then it would all be over. She gestured, and Gladiator and the Guard drew themselves up before the entrance to the Crystal. Jahf stood there, still looking about him with an amused expression, but ready withal to fight alongside the Guard. And too there came the massive figure of Muht, the second Guardian of the Crystal, emerging at Jahf's command to take his place besides the Crystal's defenders. Lilandra felt a burst of pride. They would fail, none would ever know of their last stand, but that didn't matter. They were here, and would give their all. As Shi'ar.

A mass darkening of the sky above them. Galactus' ship. It filled the heavens. The Surfer again--and this time, he came in fighting, attacking the Guard, who responded in kind. Gladiator approached him as he flew over, and they met, and Gladiator fell, wounded but not dead. It didn't matter, she thought as she saw the others fall as well, none of them being able to withstand even the Silver Surfer. Those who remained on their feet after his first pass banded together for the second assault, and she saw--with a burst of pride--that Fang was leading them. But they fared no better than their fellows had, and soon the entire Guard was lying in heaps on the soil of this world at the end of the Galaxy. Lilandra felt more tears come to her eyes. Some of the Guard would not rise again.

Then a cloud of dust and light appeared in their midst, and it coalesced into a Figure. It took the appearance of a giant humanoid, wearing a purple garb topped by a great headgear. The Figure looked around, and seemed satisfied with what it saw. Then Lilandra heard a voice, and knew that the final moment had come.

"I have come," the voice said, and it seemed to fill the sky and fill Lilandra's soul. Not an evil voice, rather one that transcended such concepts as "good" or "evil". "And I shall do what I must needs do. There is no malice in my action. But the Universe you have known is over. Thus speaks Galactus."

* * *

Jean Grey felt a slight shudder run through her, as Lila transported the X-Men, the Fantastic Four, Doom, Marr-Vell, Magneto and Wanda, over incomprehensible interstellar spaces. For a brief moment she felt as if she were seasick, then everything cleared and she felt more concrete, more _absolute,_ then she ever remembered being before. Whatever was happening to her, she was alive in a way she had never imagined. Her previous life didn't fall away from her, nothing like that--in fact, it seemed that her memories were stronger than ever, _realer_   than ever. Every second of her life, all the way back to her conception, was present at once in her mind, but she had no problems keeping it all straight. No, indeed--there was a clarity, a strength, in her memories that astonished her. Everything was so much more _real_   than she had ever dreamed experience could be. And especially, her love for Scott. The moment she first saw him, when she declared her love, the physical and emotional bonds they had forged--the weight of all that was greater than planets, yet it was a burden that seemed absurdly light, nonetheless. She was a rock that nothing could break, and no burden seemed too much right then.

 _Careful, girl,_ she said to herself. _Don't forget, you're winging this. You don't really know what the hell you're doing. Don't get too impressed with what you're experiencing._ She told herself this, then dived even further into realms she never knew existed, swaths of memory that this time didn't belong to her, but to Something else, memories of the Cosmos, of its birth and its slow evolution, memories of life and of death, and how at some level they were the same memories. _Verily, I come to you, Star Childe,_ she heard a voice call within her, a song that she had never heard before but that she knew all the same. Every instant that passed, this song--this voice--seemed more and more familiar, more and more _right_   to her. She knew that she wasn't herself anymore, the girl she had been, Jean Grey, "Marvel Girl". And yet this was "herself", too--as much as anything had been. This was who, what she was, and she gloried in it, felt the awe and the acceptance.

The others--their love for her, their acceptance of who she was and what she had become, their total commitment to her--they too were there, and she felt them, felt them nourish her and felt herself nourish them. Especially Scott. They were holding hands as Lila opened the gates of eternity, and she felt his physical presence and his psychic resonance next to her, and felt his love, so deep that it was indistinguishable from his soul. _Scott. My darling Scott. None of this would be remotely possible without you._ And he must have felt the thought, because she heard his reply: _Jean--that may be. But with_ _you_ _, everything is possible. Everything._ Jean Grey felt a flush of sheer joy at his thoughts, and she knew in that instant that she could sense every moment of _his_   life since his conception, and that his soul was a joy to her, and that he could sense what she had earlier experienced as well, her memories, and that they had no secrets from each other and that both were happy in the knowledge of that.

Then the Universe seemed to clear, and Jean could see where she was, and they were on a plain in a world of perpetual twilight, and in front of them was a giant Crystal, and she knew then that that was where her destiny impelled her to go, and she saw, sensed, the awe in the others as they saw the Crystal, and as they all looked at her, and she knew that they were thinking the same thing: _This is so massive, and the danger is so great, and this is Jean, after all, whom we love, and despite what has happened to her can even_ _she_ _master all of this in time?_ , and she laughed, because she had the exact same thoughts running through her own mind.

"I guess this is the place," she said with a laugh. "Now I suppose it's time for the magic show to begin. Anyone have a top hat I can pull a rabbit out of?" And Scott laughed, and Warren bowed and said he was out of top hats, but he'd remember to bring a baseball cap with him on their next excursion, and Maria smiled gently and said that she, Jean Grey, should be able to produce miracles even _without_ a damned top hat, and Jean stuck her tongue out at her friend. Then they heard the mental "voice" of the Professor.

_X-Men, all of you--be alert. Something is happening._

They looked across the plain at the Crystal, and Jean stiffened. Someone--some One--was there, was present. A presence that she realized she _knew,_ in a way she couldn't describe. The Crystal was far off still, but they all started walking forward, Scott still holding her hand, and Jean saw the FF, Reed and Sue also hand-in-hand, a look of unutterable sadness on their faces. Johnny flew ahead, as did Warren, and both returned almost immediately.

"Reed--you guys will have to see for yourselves," Johnny said. "But it doesn't look good." Warren merely shook his head, and all light-heartedness was gone from his eyes as he did so. Jean smiled to herself. For a brief instant she was tempted to fly ahead-- _fly?_   she thought. She couldn't fly!--but decided against it. No, let them face this together. Their trek accelerated, and soon they saw a large humanoid figure standing over the entrance to the Crystal, and other figures littering the ground, some dead, some merely wounded. A figure on a silver board flew over the scene, and underneath the humanoid stood a small, slim figure who appeared to be an intelligent bird, and she watched the newcomers approach with what Jean thought was a startled expression on her face.

Jean watched the others. The FF were alert and watchful, and Reed in particular was watching the giant humanoid with a fascinated look. But Doom's interest was piqued even more, and he looked at the giant, and at Jean, with unconcealed interest. Marr-Vell looked grim, and his lips were a thin line. Magneto and Wanda seemed resigned to whatever happened, and Jean felt Wanda's thoughts as a cauldron. But beneath the cauldron was a growing determination, and that was a blessing because that determination would be needed. Her fellow X-Men were looking on uncomprehendingly but without fear, with Scott, she noticed, looking grimmer than Jean had ever seen him. His grip on her hand tightened. Maria's face showed understanding, and a relief that one way or another it would be over soon. While Charles, she noticed with interest, was staring at the bird-figure with open shock. And the latter, Jean saw, was returning his stare. It was almost as if-- But no, that _couldn't_ be. And there probably wouldn't be time for her to ever know for sure.

The bird-figure watched them as they got close to the scene. "Sharrya preserve us? Who are _you_   people?" Then she noticed Marr-Vell in his Kree uniform. "Did the Supreme Intelligence send you?"

"In a way," Marr-Vell answered. "We have come from Earth."

Lilandra frowned. "That world--I have heard of it from Corsair--" She suddenly looked at Jean, and her eyes widened. "God help us! You--you're--"

Jean went ahead of the others, and walked right up to Lilandra. "I am," she said with a laugh. "Hi, Majestrix. I'm Jean Grey, an Earth mutant. And I'm here to straighten all this out. Believe it or not." Galactus had paid no heed to their approach, or the conversation. He simply watched intently, and finally focused on Jean as she looked up at him.

"Hear me, Destroyer of Worlds!" she cried out to him, not knowing how she knew what she was saying but saying it nonetheless. "You cannot have _this_ world. Leave, and I shall not hold this day against you. Remain, however, and we must clash." _Oh my God, what am I doing, what am I saying? This is_ _Galactus_ _. And I'm just a little mote from Earth._

The giant considered her words, considered her. "So," his voice said, rumbling across the plain of this twilight world. "It is true. You, who are immortal, have taken unto yourself a fleshly shell. Very well. I acknowledge you, Phoenix. But know this--not even you shall keep me from my goal. My pain can end, and the Universe's. Nothing shall stop me. And if you try to, then you try to. Now either leave, or face me. But the time to decide has come."

Jean Grey stood her ground. _I shall stand for life, for this Universe, Galactus. If the contest between us be joined, then let it be joined._ She had not spoken with words, but the giant understood her nonetheless, for he raised his hand and unleashed an energy blast against Phoenix. Jean felt it hit her, and felt, too, its force dissipate and scatter over the plain. _Scott, Reed, Professor! Keep everyone back!_   She mentally called out to them, and saw Sue's force-field absorb some of the energy. My God--she had survived an attack by Galactus! She sensed he had not utilized more than a small amount of his power, that this had been more af an attempt to drive her off than a concerted action to destroy her--but still, she had survived! She saw the Human Torch toss some flame at the giant's head, and she repeated her warning for everyone else to stay back. But at that moment the Silver Surfer came to his Master's aid, and he and the Torch got into a conflict, with Magneto helping the Torch, and Scott and Alex aiming blasts of their own at Galactus' herald, and Jean sensed the relief they felt at being able to deal with an adversary that they at least could understand, even if they, too, fell in the end as the Imperial Guard had. The other X-Men joined in the fight, all except Maria, who stood there watching Jean with a crooked smile on her face. _Red--it's time for you to do what you came here for._ She heard the words in Maria's mind as clearly as if she had spoken them, and Jean laughed in reply.

_You bet, you freak. Why else are we here, anyway? For our health?_

The two girls shared a mental laugh together, and Jean basked in it because she knew there would be no more moments of laughter between she and Maria, and that seemed to overwhelm all else, the sadness that thought brought in its wake. Then she laughed again and drove out all despair.

_Come then, Galactus! Do your worst! But you shall get no succor_ _here_ _, this world, this day. You shall not pass into the Crystal!_

And Phoenix rose into the air and flew right at Galactus.

* * *

And inside the Crystal in the Primal Timeline of 2012, Jean Summers was still calling out Maria's name as she dissolved into the structure of the Crystal. Again and again Jean cried out, and the tears came to her ravaged face as she wept for Maria Gianelli, for the sacrifice she had made, for all that had been and would never be again. For her, Phoenix's, final failure, to preserve the life of her best friend. Then, beneath her tears, the thought came to her, fully formed: _Phoenix. Do not despair. The Crystal made me, and it has reclaimed its own. This is right._

"Maria?" Jean said, knowing that the words she had just heard were not uttered by the woman whom she had just sent into the past. They seemed to come directly from the Crystal, out of some potential within it. The voice, not of Maria Gianelli McCoy, but rather of Da'ath itself, speaking to its Creator. And in that moment, Jean Grey Summers _did_   cease to despair, because the voice was within her, and she would leave the Crystal with it a part of her always.

Wanda, looking blankly at Jean, seemed lost. "Are we done, Jean? Is it time to go home now?"

Jean smiled, and listened again to the Crystal. "No, Wanda. No, not just yet. There is a last act. I know now what Maria must do in the past. And I, too, must be here for that act."

* * *

Maria watched the battle between the X-Men, Magneto, the FF, and the Silver Surfer. Somewhat to her surprise, the Surfer seemed to be having the worst of it. Every time he launched his Power Cosmic, Sue managed to blunt most of it with her force-field--a demonstration of power that astonished the Surfer, and, Maria, suspected, Sue herself. Then the others would counter-attack, and the Torch and Magneto, especially, would put the Surfer on the ropes. It was a spectacular battle, one that ranked with the greatest any of them had ever experienced, and Maria wished, with a small part of her mind, that she could appreciate it, even watch it with her full attention. But she couldn't. Things like this were slipping out of her conscious mind, out of her ken. It was approaching. She _felt_   her temporal energy, accumulated by a lifetime of living at "right angles" to the Primal Timeline--a lifetime, she realized, that _she_   had not lived. And in that final moment she had knowledge of "Maria McCoy", living in the Berkshires, and Maria Gianelli at last had all her memories of so much--her own "death", her life in the Galaxy, her role in the death and resurrection of Jean Grey, of her life with Hank and her daughter, all of it. And she felt it as a blessing, a rain of joy and love that she would never experience but knew had happened, once, to a "Maria Gianelli". And that there was a place where it could never be erased. And that was all she could have, this final glimpse of that reality in these last moments of her life. It was enough. _I was here._

_Come on, Jean. Finish Galactus, and let us do what we came here or. Then I can rest._

* * *

Jean's heart and soul were full--of energy, of power, reaching a crescendo within her. Galactus was throwing everything he had at her, and she was laughing as he did so. Somewhere, deep within, there was still the panic of a girl utilizing powers she didn't dream existed. And those powers felt so _good_ , so natural...using them was overwhelming all else. Using them to fight, to overcome. To destroy. With every second that passed that girl she had been, Jean Grey, and her voice within, grew weaker and weaker. She felt that her life before this day, before her ascension into Phoenix, was a fever dream, something that hardly mattered. That girl might not even have existed. And suddenly, as clearly as if she heard it aurally, a voice spoke in her mind: _That is a mistake, Jean. You_ _do_ _exist. You and Phoenix are one, and you must act in concert. You must not permit Phoenix to destroy who you are. That way lies disaster. And defeat this day, in this contest._ Jean felt those words run through her, reaching her innermost soul, and she laughed because she recognized their truth, and she wondered who had sent the message. Then she wondered no more, for she had a task to perform, and it had to be accomplished _now._

* * *

Wanda looked at Jean in 2012 with wonder. "You spoke to her, didn't you?" she asked. Jean smiled.

"Yes, dear Wanda, I did. To all the realities where that struggle goes on right now. For within the Crystal, all realities are simultaneous. Except for ours. And even then, while we are Primal, we still exist at the same time as the others. They radiate out from us. So, yes, I spoke to her--to them. Now it is up to them."

* * *

Charles Xavier sat in his chair on this plain, helpless to be of any aid in any of the battles that were raging. But the Silver Surfer seemed to be losing his battle, and the FF and the X-Men were pressing their advantage. While Galactus and Jean--no, _Phoenix_ \--fought seemingly on equal terms. He felt a shiver of sheer awe. Jean! Who could have guessed she was capable of _this,_ no matter what they might have theorized! His pride in her threatened to overwhelm him for a second.

Then he looked at Maria, and was puzzled. She stood there, seemingly oblivious to the action surrounding her, certainly not taking any part in it. Then she noticed him staring at her, and she smiled at him, and in that smile Charles read the story of what was going through her mind then, and he was puzzled no more. _Oh, my dear--I am so proud of_ _you_ _, too. You do know that, don't you?_ And she smiled again, and he saw that she knew it very well.

* * *

_Energy. Energy is the key._

And Jean Grey saw a vision in her mind of Galactus emerging from something like an incubator, something that he had lay dormant in for untold ages. Galactus needed energy--the energy of living worlds--to survive. But he had had that long incubation period. Therefore--and the logic of this seemed obvious, though she couldn't have said why--he needed to sleep again, to hibernate. His long life since his incubation had only been a day for him, and it was time for him to sleep again. Incubate again. And next time, when he awoke, he would be a different entity, a different force. He would still feed, but not on sentient beings. On what, then? That was for the future to decide. For fate, and the tides of the Universe. What she needed to do was put him to "sleep", somehow.

Jean _knew_   this was right--that it was time for Galactus to undergo another cycle. That, she suddenly realized, was why he had really come here to this world--on some level, he wasn't concerned about ending the Universe, only his own hunger, his _role_ in the Universe. That had become insupportable to him. She flashed into his mind, and for a moment was overwhelmed, by the sheer immensity of it, its godlike power. But she herself was utilizing godlike powers of her own, and she knew that he was aware of her thoughts, of all she had been thinking. And then, she sent him another thought: _Galactus. I love you._ A thought that seemed to sear him to his core, because she knew he had never been told that before...and because he knew she was totally sincere. Even if he did destroy everything, she loved him, because he was doing what nature _made_ him do, was no more evil for it than any other predator, and Jean at that moment thought of her own predatory instincts, those instincts which she had always feared and cherished. Galactus realized all this, and their mutual understanding increased.

_Galactus. I can bring you peace, and another cycle--one within the confines of this Universe. There is no need to destroy everything. Let me help._

Silence. Then-- _Yes, Phoenix. Yes--my love. For I love you. I did not know I could. But I remember from the last Universe... Yes, I remember love. I remember, too, my time of sleep. Let me sleep, Phoenix. What shall emerge this time, none can say. But let me sleep, and some day we shall know--both of us._

 _Of course, my love._ And Phoenix created a giant energy matrix, one capable of restraining the dormant energy of Galactus, and slowly the matrix enveloped itself around him. Jean realized, with some part of her, that the other battle had broken off, that everyone was watching her, him, with awe. The Silver Surfer flew towards them.

"Master!" he cried. "What is it? What is happening?"

 _I am going to sleep, my son,_ he answered. Jean sensed the deep satisfaction within his soul. _My faithful herald--I release you from your service._ A light shone through the Silver Surfer, and he gasped and kneeled on his board. Then he rose, and was too overcome to speak.

"Galactus--may I not remain by your side? To be here, should you ever awaken and need help? Or even to protect you, in your dormant state?"

 _No, my son. You have done enough. You have a destiny to achieve. Go and live, with my blessing._ And the Surfer bowed, and moved back to watch what was going to happen.

 _But what you say has merit, Norrin Radd,_ Galactus said. _I_ _shall_ _need aid, and possibly a protector. For I shall take this matrix Phoenix is creating for me, and travel to an isolated spot to await my awakening. There I shall have need of one who shall remain by my side. Fortunately, there is one present who can play such a role._

Jean was suddenly aware of what he meant, and she laughed out of sheer joy and surprise. _Yes, my love! Yes!_

Ben Grimm spoke up. "Huh? Am I missin' something here, or what? Who is gonna do that for Galactus, anyway? One of _us_?"

"Indeed," a voice spoke, and suddenly Victor von Doom strode forward to approach Galactus. "I am ready, Galactus. Ready for the role I am to play."

Reed ran up to Doom. "Victor! You can't mean it!"

Doom laughed. "Isn't that odd, Richards. Reed. You mean it, do you not? You really don't want me gone from Earth!"

"Of course not! Victor--you can't do this!"

"How can I not?" he said with a laugh. "Reed--this is my opportunity for everything I have ever wanted. Immortality. Power. The stars! Believe me, I am ready for this." He put out his hand. "Farewell, Reed."

"Farewell, Victor." And they shook hands, and Doom turned to Galactus. "Very well, Galactus. What would you have me do?"

And in answer, a burst of light shone through Victor von Doom, and his armor melted away, and he stood there, naked--with his face unblemished. Jean gasped. She hadn't realized what astonishing male beauty the true Victor von Doom possessed. Then another light, a clear light, shone through him and Victor von Doom was suddenly encased in a golden skin, and he rose into the sky to be with Galactus, to accompany the matrix that held the former devourer of worlds.

 _You shall be known as the Golden Guardian,_ Galactus said. _And you shall serve me well._

 _I shall, Galactus._ And then the two of them shimmered, and disappeared from their view. And as suddenly as that, Galactus was gone. There was total silence, as the X-Men, Magneto, the FF, Marr-Vell, Lilandra, looked at each other, unable to speak. Slowly, all of them looked at Phoenix, and Jean Grey flew down to the surface to be with them. A space was made for her, everyone afraid to come too close.

"Hey, guys, it's me," she said with a rueful shrug. "And our job isn't over. We have to finish it. Who's with me?"


	84. New Realities

Chapter Eighty-four

* * *

Jean Grey looked around her--at the X-Men and the FF, watching her with astonishment and awe; at Lilandra and the remnants of the Imperial Guard, wary but relieved at the departure of Galactus; at the Silver Surfer, numb with shock and at a loss, it seemed, to know just what to do. She smiled to herself. All this still seemed unreal, and while she didn't know what to do to finish her work, that didn't matter. The knowledge would come. She _knew_ this, as she knew her own identity. And suddenly, the thought of _that_ almost made her laugh. Just who _was_ she right now, anyway? Then she saw Maria, and her heart broke. Her friend smiled at her, and Jean thought all the joy and sorrow in the world was in that smile. They nodded, and Jean turned to Lilandra.

"Majestrix--it is time to enter the Crystal now, and finish my work. I will admit that I'm not entirely sure what I'm doing. This--all of it--is still new to me, and I can't quite believe that I am doing what I am doing, that I _am_ what I am. But there is one thing I must do first." She walked over to the dead members of the Imperial Guard, fallen in battle against the Silver Surfer. One of them at her feet, with green skin, was lying there twisted like a pretzel, his eyes staring emptily into eternity. "Lilandra--no one shall die this day. Not _this_   day. The future is yours, all of you, to live and die as you will, as the chances of the Universe permit. But today--today, the power of life and death is _mine._ And I say, no one shall die this day!" And she raised her hands, and above the plain of the nameless world the great Raptor of the Phoenix blossomed, turning the dusk into bright day, and a light was upon the hearts of everyone who watched her, and then--as they watched--those members of the Imperial Guard who had died suddenly were whole and healed, and they blinked, and slowly rose to their feet. The green-skinned one--Jean knew suddenly his name was Mentor--also rose, and he looked about him, eyes wild and breath coming in gasps. He saw the Empress, and Gladiator, looking at him unbelievingly. Then he turned to Jean, and what he saw brought understanding to his eyes.

"Lady," he said, still gasping out his breath; and, getting to his knees, he took her hand and kissed it. Jean laughed, and her laughter seemed to reverberate all over the plain of this world.

"Get up, Mentor," she said, and he did with alacrity. "I'm getting sick and tired of people trying to bow in my presence."

Scott walked up to her, moving like an automaton, as if every step was a burden too terrible to endure. He looked at Jean, and for a moment was unable to speak. Then: "Jean?" he asked in a soft voice. "Jean? _You_ \--did this?"

"I did, my darling," she said. "Here, at the summit of every reality. Dear Scott--am I really so terrifying? It's _me._ "

"Yes," Scott said, and Jean heard the tears in his voice. "Yes, Jean, it's you. And I never knew you before."

"No!" Jean cried, and embraced her lover passionately. "No, Scott! You've _always_   known me! You made me real. You gave me everything! No matter what happens, you must always believe that!"

They kissed, and Jean felt every ounce of Scott's joy and terror and sorrow in that kiss. Sorrow perhaps most of all, because he realized now, as she had already, that this might be the last moment they would ever spend in each other's arms. "Scott--I don't know if we shall ever be together again. Have the life we promised, make the baby we hoped for. If not, then you must promise me not to despair. You must live. If I thought you could not, would not, then I could not do what I must."

Scott smiled, then nodded. "Jean. Now, of all times, I can't lie. I'll do whatever you ask. Whatever _you_   ask."

"Good. You know that I'll always be here for you."

He nodded. "I know."

"Then there is no more to be said." Jean turned to Lilandra. "Is everyone all right?"

Lilandra nodded, still in shock. "Yes, Phoenix. Everyone is indeed 'all right'." She walked directly up to Jean and stared hard at her. "You. For God-knows-what reason, _you_ are the one. Well, Jean--that is your name? Jean? Yes--well, Jean, the choice was well-made." Lilandra bowed her head. "Thank you for what you have done."

Jean laughed. "Thank me when we're finished!" She looked at the Silver Surfer. He seemed relieved.

"Phoenix. You have lifted a burden from my heart. I thank you. Now that I am free, I shall take my leave. There is a Universe to explore, and a home world to return to. There is someone there whom I very much wish to see again."

"Then go, with my blessing!" And the Silver Surfer leapt onto his board, and was off in the twinkling of an eye.

Jean turned to all of the others, gathered in a semi-circle around her. They were all--even Reed, even Marr-Vell, even Magneto, even Charles--regarding her with awe. "Listen up, people--this is no good. There is a last trick to be played, and frankly, I'm still not sure of the rules of the game yet. I'm going to need all of your help."

Charles Xavier laughed. "If you'll excuse my saying so, Jean, after watching what I've just seen, your asking for 'help' seems sort of a joke."

"Which is exactly why I _do_ need it, Charles," she said, coming over and kissing this man whom she loved almost as much as Scott. "When I was up against Galactus, I thought I knew everything, could do anything. But some voice--what, where I don't know--warned me against that feeling. And without it, I would have lost. Believe me, folks, I'm far from all-knowing. I'm still a rookie at this. _Something_   tells me that I'll need you all in there."

"Then we are entering the Crystal," Magneto said, and Jean nodded.

"You bet. Wanda? Are you here?" She looked around, and the Scarlet Witch presented herself.

"Here, Phoenix."

"Good. Don't get lost." Jean looked around again. "Maria?"

"Here, Jean." And a very quiet Maria Gianelli was by her side. Jean gripped her hand.

"OK. You're ready?"

"I'm ready, Jean."

"Good. Lila?" Lila Cheney appeared.

"On my signal, transport all of us into the Crystal." Lila nodded, and Jean shut her eyes. All was ready. It was time to begin.

* * *

Maria gripped Jean's hand. "I'm ready, Jean." Jean nodded and turned to Lila Cheney. Maria found Hank by her side, and she hugged him. "I love you, Hank."

"And I you, Maria." Hank was subdued, and Maria would have given anything to be able to make him smile. But this moment was etched with sadness, and it was for the best that they didn't try to pretend otherwise. She kissed him for the last time, and then he did smile, very briefly, before the moment of entrance into the Crystal.

* * *

Maria McCoy shut her eyes. They were about to enter the Crystal. She _felt_   it. Galactus was defeated. And Phoenix had manifested her power, there at the twilit plain at the end of the Universe. The girl was still a novice, but her learning curve was approaching infinity now. She had to be able to do what she must. _Had_   to. This was why Phoenix had sent her back, for this moment, for Maria Gianelli to utilize her--Maria McCoy's--Primal Timeline chronal energy. With Phoenix and Wanda as midwives. It had to happen, because it _had_   happened. And then--

Maria laughed, a laugh of pure joy. "Thank you, God!" she called out. "For the gift of life. I am sorry all my alternates must be erased, that _I_   must be erased. But in the Primal Timeline, I _was_   there. And this is a good day to die!" Lucy was in Maria's lap, and started hissing as she realized that something outside her ken was happening, something that directly affected her but that she couldn't understand. Maria rubbed Lucy and kissed her and whispered to her, and Lucy calmed down enough to merely howl at the inscrutable fates. Maria laughed, and thought of Jean, and Hank, and Jeannie, her daughter, and so many other things. Her house. In whatever time, she loved this house. She was glad she was here, with Lucy, and sat back to await the final end.

* * *

They found themselves within a great city, with plazas and streets and buildings, but also with the dust of centuries filling it. It stretched to infinity, but also, paradoxically, seemed to hem them in at the same time. All of them gathered close together. In front of them was a great white sphere, shimmering and alive. Jean walked over the the sphere, and reached out her hand.

"Where is this place?" Scott said, puzzled...

_"Hush, Scott. Don't you_ _see_ _, my love? We're_ _inside_ _the Crystal."_

_Jean Grey speaks to Scott Summers, in 1968._

_"We're...inside the Crystal? How--?"_

_"Reality as we know it has no meaning here."_

...Jean put her hand out to the sphere, and as she did so beams of blood-hued light lashed out from it. They touched everyone present, invoking their most primal fears. To Magneto, it was the memory of a trench in Poland in 1939. His father is warning him not to be afraid, not to let them see him cry out. Then a sound of machine gun blasts, and he falls into the pit in oblivion...

...Lorna Dane sees Mesmero smile and reach out to her...

...Warren Worthington wakes up in a hospital bed, and realizes that his wings have been amputated...

...Bobby Drake feels himself melting, dissolving into water, and there's nothing he can do to turn "human" again...

...Marr-Vell sees the dead body of Una in his arms, and realizes that he could have prevented it...

...Gladiator sees the corpses of the Imperial Guard around him lying at his feet...

...Reed Richards looks over at Sue, after they've landed on the flight that made them the Fantastic Four, and sees that she's turned into a She-Thing...

...Maria Gianelli sees a black void before her stretching to infinity, and knows that she must enter the void, that this isn't even death but erasure, and that her existence is merely a bad joke...

...Jean Grey feels herself die, blown to atoms at the hands of the Sentinels, saving Scott's life. She bows in fear and psychic pain, but then she slowly rises to her feet and looks around at the others suffering their nightmares. _For some reason, the vision isn't affecting me anymore. Perhaps because I am now able to transcend death. Whatever--I no longer_ _fear_ _death. Scott? Where is Scott?_

Scott Summers was nearby, and she could sense his nightmare--of his optic blasts totally out of his control, and him killing those closest to him--the X-Men, and especially her. All throughout their lovemaking that fear lay close to his surface, no matter what TK Jean used to keep his powers under control. But with his mind trapped in the nightmare, his powers were unleashed, and his optic blasts were exploding in every direction.

"Scott! No!" One of the blasts went right through Jean, and she gasped as it had no effect on her. And that was because, as she noticed a moment later, she seemed to be becoming a ghost, translucent. What was happening?

No matter. She had to stop Scott first. She hit him with a TK blast, and his beam went wild, and to her horror it hit the sphere and cracked it.

"No! Oh, no!" _What do I do now? Well, one thing--don't panic. I'm an X-Man, and for God's sake I've just defeated Galactus. I'm_ _supposed_ _to be here. This is why I was given this gift, for just this moment. Let me enter the sphere, and it'll become clear what I am to do._

* * *

Maria's nightmare ended, and she found herself back inside the Crystal. For a moment she was disappointed, to find herself still existing, still sentient. Then she knew that that was selfish of her--her job wasn't ended yet. She could see the Primal Timeline glowing like a star somewhere within her mind--that Timeline that her _doppelganger_   had known, but she only sensed through the communion they shared. It was a shining Platonic entity at one end of Time. Radiating out from it were all the alternate timelines, all the ones which had her, Maria, within them, created by Jean within the Crystal in 1968 when Phoenix, in the Primal Timeline, healed the Crystal from the crisis engineered by D'Ken. When she created Da'ath, and Maria laughed as she realized the truth of this, the truth of _her._ All this came to her in that second after her nightmare ended, and she felt the mental laughter of Jean as well, _her_ Jean, as she entered the Neutron Galaxy within the sphere and sensed, as did Maria, more and more of the Truth.

At one end, the Primal Timeline--the Absolute that all of existence radiated out from. But as the timelines extended to infinity, there was something-- _missing._ Another Timeline, another sphere of existence. If the Primal Timeline was perfect, Absolute, then this one--its opposite pole--was, perforce, shifting. Changing every year, every day, every second. Something happened, and it created its own timeline. A moment later, another thing happened, and _it_   created a timeline. And this happened, over and over and over, ad infinitum. But unlike ordinary timelines, that simply were created and radiated out from the Primal, this one--at the opposite end of Creation from the Primal-- _contained_   all the changes. A person took an action in 1965, and a new line came into being; but it stayed grafted onto the old one, in some mysterious manner. Time passed, people lived through many years, chronology changed--but somehow, they didn't get older. Someone--say, Jean Grey--could join the X-Men in 1963. She could become Phoenix in 1975, save the Crystal in 1977, die on the Moon in 1980, be reborn in 1985, marry Scott in 1994, die again in 2004--and all of those dates were equally "real"--but in some way, within the same timeline. A timeline wherein Jean wouldn't age forty years--rather, just a few years. An endless spool of time, coming together and apart in every instant, but making a whole. Maria felt a name for it pop into her head--"616". It was the creation of this Timeline that she had to help bring into being, why she had been sent back by Phoenix from the Primal Timeline. Perhaps, ultimately, why she had been created in the first place. The Worm Ouroburos...The snake with the tail in its mouth...

* * *

Phoenix entered the Neutron Galaxy with her mind, her soul, and was awed by what she saw. The lattice formation surrounding her--she didn't have the concepts to express it. But that didn't matter to her then. What mattered was that it was dying. She sensed the lattices failing, the energies being slowly sucked out of them. That the next cosmic "blink" would bring it all down, and the Universe would sink into a maw of decay and destruction. And she saw why, too. The timelines that stretched out to Infinity from the Primal Timeline lacked an "anchor". They needed a timeline that would serve to reflect all the others, that would utilize them, be constantly shifting in and of itself but, withal, still a true Universe. And she realized then about Da'ath, and why the Primal Phoenix in 1968 had created her--to accumulate temporal energy, so that she would be available here, now, to use that energy to create the 616. To balance the Multiverse, with 616 as one pole, the Primal Reality as another. Da'ath--"knowledge". The Hidden Sephira. Created to be Phoenix's balance, which she was, within the X-Men. And created, too, to be the "balance" of the Primal Timeline, which Phoenix had safeguarded and directed.

The Neutron Galaxy which threatened the lattice could only be held at bay by the creation of an "anchor"--the "616" reality. Jean sensed the pattern of the lattice, and tried to utilize her strength against the Neutron Galaxy--to no avail. It was a negation of energy, and Phoenix was a creature of energy. They cancelled each other out. "I don't have the strength!" she cried to herself, despairing for the briefest second. Then she felt them--the X-Men, the FF, Magneto, Wanda, Lilandra, the Imperial Guard. All the sentient beings of goodwill, all feeling her struggle, understanding the stakes involved, all willing to give her everything they had. She suddenly felt a presence next to her, and Maria was there.

"Hey, Red," she said with a wistful smile. "You're in a helluva fix, aren't you?"

"You might say so," Jean said, tears running down her face as she saw Maria, the Galaxy, the lattices, sensed the Temporal Infinities stretching away from her.

Maria put out her hand. "You need strength? Here, kid. Take mine. You know that this is what I was created for--to be here, this place, this moment, for you."

"Yes, Maria. I know that."

"Good." They clasped hands. "Then use it, dammit! As long as I have it to give you!"

* * *

In 2012, Wanda gave Jean an almost sly look. "Is that true, Jean?" she asked breathlessly. "Is _that_   why you really created Maria?"

Jean was silent for a moment, feeling all of Eternity flowing through her. She could feel the events of her life, beginning, end, all between... Finally, she sighed. "Yes, Wanda. Yes, that is the real reason I created her--created Da'ath. So she could sacrifice her energy _now._ Correct the unbalance that the lack of the 616 Universe had brought into being."

"Then you _didn't_ create her to be your friend?" And Jean wanted to slap Wanda in that instant.

"No," Jean said, feeling weary--something she didn't think was possible. "No, Da'ath was meant to be my balance in all things. In doing so, she balanced the X-Men. She balanced my soul, my spirit. She did so much for me while she was there. But now, she must balance out all that exists by sacrificing her own existence. None shall ever know she was there--in the timelines, in the 616. But she _was_ there." Tears were running down Jean's face, and she made no effort to staunch them. Wanda, too, seemed sobered.

"I'm sorry, Jean."

"I know you are, Wanda. I know you are."

* * *

 _Let us help you, child._ Charles Xavier was sending Jean all his psychic strength, and she sensed behind him Scott, Warren, Hank, all of them--and the FF as well. Even Magneto was joining his power to the _gestalt._

 _Yes!_ Jean cried out with her mind, suddenly exultant. _Yes! The new pattern shall contain all of you, at least in_ _this_ _Universe. Yes, come unto me! Maria! I take your gift!_

...And in 1968, Jean Grey twists reality, it collapses, reforms, what was, is, will be, might be, in her life and the lives of her friends jumbling all together...and she no longer knows whether she's human or goddess. Trapped within the sphere, within the Crystal...a new pattern forms--shaped like the mystic Tree of Life--with Xavier the lofty crown and Colossus its base. Each X-Man has a place, each a purpose greater than him or herself...the heart of the Tree--the catalyst that binds these wayward souls together--is Phoenix, Tiphareth, Child of the Sun, Child of Life, the vision of the harmony of things. And just as the task is complete, Phoenix senses the underlying causes of the lattice's decay--the lack of balance in the Multiverse--and with a last twist of reality brings forth Da'ath, Knowledge, the Abyss, the Hidden Sephora, to balance her, to balance the Timelines when the moment comes--this moment--all moments, together, one.

...Maria and Jean clasp hands so tightly they seem to become one entity, as Maria's temporal energy flows out of her, as her consciousness hovers between "real" and "potential", and even as she does so she knows that it isn't enough, that Jean needs an "amplifier", and in that instant Wanda comes forward and puts her hand out and joins it to the other two girls'.

_Jean--Maria--take me. Take my powers over probability. Only thus can this new reality, that winds and unwinds like an infinite spool, be stable enough to actually come into being._

_Yes, Wanda,_ Jean says, joy in her heart. _Yes. And many thanks for this gift._

_It is mine to give, Phoenix. It is my privilege._

* * *

And in 2012, Jean Grey feels the 616 coming from potentiality into reality, and senses the Multiverse's "anchor" hardening and balancing existence. The Neutron Galaxy is bound by the energy being unleashed by Maria, channeled by Wanda, and midwived by herself. The lattices heal and reform, stronger than ever. As they were meant to do, since their true function and purpose are only manifest _now,_ in this moment.

 _Jean!_   she hears Wanda call out to her. _Jean! My God! Am_ _I_ _helping this to happen?_

_You are, Wanda._

_Good. I think when we get home, Jean, I'm going to be better. I don't think I'll try to break through your quarantine anymore. I've done my part, haven't I?_

_You have indeed, Wanda,_ Jean says. _And this is good, what you say. There's hope for all of us. It's never too late._

 _No, I guess it isn't._ A pause. _Thank you for letting me come. I'm sorry about Maria._

 _Me, too._ Jean Summers sighs, thinking of all that Maria Gianelli had been. _It's done, Wanda. Let's get back to Lila, and go home._

* * *

Jean Grey felt the lattices reforming, coming into the pattern they were meant to be. Maria's sacrifice had worked, the 616 was forming, and the Crystal was healing itself. What exactly would happen when the 616 was complete she didn't know, but they had done what they came to do. She felt the X-Men, the FF, all of them, sending her all the strength and support they could. Wanda had done her job, and the temporal energies utilized in the creation of the new reality were hardening into temporal actuality. And Maria--

\--Maria was almost dissipated now, and the last of her energy was waning. And as it did, Jean received one last thought from her friend and more-than-friend: _It's been terrific, Red. I love you. I_ _was_ _here._ And then she was gone.

* * *

Maria McCoy smiled to herself. Yes. Yes. She--they--had done it. It was over. The creation of the 616 Universe was finally accomplished, and she--along with all the other incarnations of herself--were slipping into darkness. But that didn't matter. Her task had been fulfilled, and new realities were being made--and unmade--every instant. At least the Multiverse had been saved. She was content with that. It had been good.

Lucy was howling, and Maria wondered if she _knew_   what was happening. Nothing surprised her about Lucy. Nothing surprised her about anything. It had been a good life. No regrets. She said out loud, "I _was_ he--"

* * *

 _Scott?_ Jean called out.

_Jean! You're all right?_

_Yes, my darling,_ Jean said, a smile coming to her lips. In this last possible instant, she was indeed "all right".

_Maria?_

_She's gone, Scott._ She felt the burst of grief in Scott at this news, then she said: _I love you, Scott. I always will._ And then the pattern was complete, and Jean sensed the 616 come into final existence.

And then...


	85. Epilogue

Chapter Eighty-five

EPILOGUE

* * *

Wanda felt the cheers wash over her, as she stood next to Pietro, Hawkeye, and Captain America. She waved again, and the photographers and TV cameras caught the gesture, and the cheers just kept getting louder.

"Why are they focusing so much on _me,_ Pietro?" she whispered to her brother, who smiled sardonically.

"My dear sister--if you have to ask _that_   question, I fear you'll never understand the answer." Wanda considered this, then blushed.

"Oh." She waved again. "You mean that I'm the one that the Americans call the 'sex symbol', Pietro?"

"Absolutely, Wanda. But don't worry--I shall be here to protect you from the worst of it." Wanda smiled, and accepted the answer. Pietro _did_ protect her. He had from Magneto, and she was sure he would be able to from the American press and public. It seemed so incredible--here they were, members of the Avengers! But it was true. Captain America himself leading them. Hawkeye--he was young, like them; and brash. But it would all work out. She just knew it would.

A voice from the crowd called out. "Hey, Cap--one more time!"

Captain America laughed. "OK--this one's for you..." They all looked at each other, and sang out in unison:

" _Avengers Assemble!_ "

* * *

Lila Cheney swayed to the rhythms of the music, here on this world over forty thousand light years from Earth. The natives of this planet had little technology, but an uncanny natural instinct for artistic creation. What she could understand of their poetry seemed Shakespearean, their painting and sculpture would have graced the Renaissance. And their music--!

Their music seemed primitive, almost childish, at first hearing. But it had underlying polyrhythms that got subtler the more you heard them, and their harmonies always blended together, no matter how much it sounded like discords at first hearing. No, this was a great music of a great people, and someday, she told herself, she would incorporate it in _her_   music. With a generous leavening of rock and roll, she would make a Galactic stew of music from all over the cosmos.

She laughed to herself. No matter how disparate the elements, the final result would be _hers_. She was determined about that. Would Earth appreciate it, she wondered? Or would her audiences consist of aliens, used to the mixing of interstellar cultures? She smiled. She couldn't wait to find out.

* * *

Frank Gianelli sat at his desk in the City Room, toying with a paper airplane. The City Editor was looking askance at him, but Frank didn't care. If he wanted him to do something, then give him an assignment. He was damned if he was going to look busy just for the sake of looking busy.

"Hey, _Paisan._ " Frank looked up, and Ben Urich stood over him. Ben was giving him his Look, and Frank just smiled back, unfazed.

"You gonna just sit around here like a piece of furniture?"

"I am until they give me something to goddam _do,_ " Frank said. "Got any ideas, Ben?"

"Yeah. Go investigate one of these super-heroes. Spider-Man. Daredevil. The X-Men. Find out their secret identities. Jameson will fucking adopt you."

Frank considered this. The idea _did_   have possibilities... "Maybe. I'll take it up with Desk. How are things on the column front? Any crusades?"

"You mean you aren't reading every golden word I write? Cripes, Gianelli, what are the younger generation of reporters coming to, anyway?"

Frank launched the paper airplane. "I dunno, Ben. I dunno."

"Yeah." Ben hemmed and hawed, and finally came out with it: "Look here, _Paisan._ I know you don't have any family. You want to drop by the old homestead this Sunday? We're having delectable tuna salad and hard-boiled eggs. Maybe some chips. Watch the Yankees continue their collapse live on the miracle of television. How about it?"

Frank was touched, and for a brief instant showed it. "Sure, Ben. I appreciate it."

Ben nodded. "OK, then. Just as long as you don't think that I _like_   you or anything."

"Wouldn't dream of it."

* * *

The man who called himself the Changeling sat at a table in a restaurant in Dublin. Facing him was his old friend Sean Cassidy, who was not smiling at him today.

"Paul, I'm tellin' ye the truth--if you're involved in what I'm _hearing_   you're involved in, you're headin' for trouble. Big trouble."

The Changeling smiled archly. "Indeed, dear boy? And what trouble might _that_ be?"

Sean shrugged his shoulders. "I hear things from my Interpol sources...this Factor Three. Fer God's sake, Paul, this doesn't sound like you at all. These people are dangerous. Ye should be stayin' away from them."

For a moment, the Changeling got serious--or at least, as serious as he ever was. "Sean, I don't doubt but these people _are_ dangerous. But that's the point! I've been, well, almost a recluse in my career as a mutant. Enjoying myself, to be sure, but staying very much on the sidelines. That finally became a bore. But I have little inclination to be a Good Guy, I fear. What a dismal prospect! No, my dear Sean, it's the thought of being a villain that really excites me. I quite get off on the idea." He saw Sean--a dear man, but very much the prisoner of his Irish Catholic upbringing--cringe slightly as he said this. They talked a little more, then--with a final warning--Sean left. The Changeling sighed. No doubt, Banshee was completely correct. This _was_ a dangerous path for him to go down. But there it was. He was committed, and he realized, with a thrill of excitement, that that's what he wanted. To _be_   committed! There was no backing out now.

He sipped his coffee. Hmmm. Sean...what if he could pull Banshee into Factor Three, one way or another? What a naughty thought! He'd have to give the matter some serious consideration.

* * *

Reed Richards adjusted the setting for the viewer. There--the Negative Zone came ever more into focus. Soon, he would explore that bizarre space. See why it had a breathable atmosphere, for God's sake. Check out its inhabitants. Get a good sense of its dimensions. And then--

A pair of hands closed over his eyes. "Guess who?"

"I'd say Kim Novak, but your voice isn't quite so sultry." He felt a kick from a force-field.

"Kim Novak! Why Reed Richards--!" His bride looked at him with a mock-severe look. "Just for _that,_ my dear husband, I just might have my force-field in place during a certain moment the next time we decide to behave like a married couple."

Reed rose. "Oh you do, do you? Well--how long has it been, anyway?"

She tried to look severe. "Exactly eighty-six minutes."

"That long! I guess the honeymoon _is_   over." He kissed her. "Are you serious about that force-field?"

"Let's find out."

"Sounds good to me."

* * *

The Royal Princess Lilandra watched the ceremonies in the Throne Room with satisfaction. Nothing major--just the reception of the new Skrull Ambassador. A meeting between equals, essentially. D'Ken was good at this sort of thing when he wanted to be. She looked around. Deathbird was on her good behavior, somewhat to Lilandra's surprise. Her sister saw her watching her, and leered at her briefly. Lilandra sighed to herself. By the Great Egg, Deathbird was a problem. Well, one of them had to be the Bad Princess. Lilandra was content to be the Good one.

The Empire was enjoying peace and prosperity. No storms were on the horizon. She hoped that the weather remained this way for the rest of their lives. She didn't want to live in Interesting Times, to quote from the old Shi'ar proverb. Dull times suited her. She wished a long and happy reign for her brother.

* * *

Marr-Vell was sitting in a bar on Hala, enjoying the stares that were barely noticeable. He was a Pink, and the only other Pink in the bar was his classmate from the Academy and old friend, Yon-Rogg, who was sitting across the table from him.

"Isn't it wonderful that we live in such enlightened times, Marr-Vell?" Yon-Rogg said easily, sipping his drink. "No more bigotry. No more segregation. Pinks and Blues, all happy together." The alcohol was loosening the other man's tongue just a bit, Marr-Vell noticed. "No artificial limits on anyone's ambitions!"

"No, not anymore," Marr-Vell said. "A good time to be a Kree."

"Indeed." Yon-Rogg paused. "And the lovely Una? How fares _she,_ old friend?"

"Quite well, Yon-Rogg," Marr-Vell answered warily. He didn't like discussing Una with this man.

"Excellent, excellent," Yon-Rogg said. He raised his glass. "To the Empire!"

Marr-Vell smiled to himself. A good neutral toast, and one that couldn't be refused. "To the Empire!"

"And to our future!" They toasted again, and Marr-Vell hoped he could keep his old friend from getting drunk. Again.

* * *

Magneto watched the controls of the Stranger's ship carefully. He laughed, thinking how easily he had mastered the operations of this vessel. The Stranger had underestimated him. Well, he would be back on Earth within a week. And when he was--

A smile of satisfaction came over his features. The accursed X-Men would be destroyed. And the last obstacle to his plans would be removed. Charles Xavier and his weak sentimentality would be history, as would his soft American students. Then the hard measures necessary to secure the Earth for mutants could begin in earnest. He chuckled to himself. At least the miserable Toad wouldn't he slavering at his side, getting in the way. He had left _him_ in the capable hands of the Stranger. If he needed an Earth mutant, let him enjoy the company of Mortimer Toynbee!

He felt the impatience of frustrated desire. The need to return, to avenge, to wipe out his humiliations at the hands of those arrogant children was consuming him. He wanted to see the expressions on their faces as they realized who it was who had destroyed them! He could hardly wait.

* * *

Was she still asleep?

Jean Grey floated in a cocoon of thought that was no longer unconsciousness, but not self-aware consciousness either. She was unsure of her identity, of who and where she was...but realized at some level that this knowledge would come, that all she had to do was wait, hear her heart beat and her breath slowly unwind from her body, and everything would become clear. Also: she knew that it was now, in these moments between sleep and waking, that the moments of clarity were the strongest, that illumination was closest. And that the moment would pass, soon, very soon...so that if insight were to come it had to be now. She couldn't force things, just had to let it happen of its own accord, to bless her with its presence or not. Something about her in this state was far more real than either her "waking" or "sleeping" state, something even more real than her identity as a mutant...

"Mutant"? That was too real, too concrete. Too much of something connected to her waking identity. Sensing this, she realized she was emerging from this state, and she felt a slight sense of disappointment that it was ending without any particular insights, those moments when everything changed and her very soul felt itself transformed. And then...

_I'm dying._

That was all she could understand in that first instant of the experience, a sense of death, of everything ending. It was like when she was with Annie Richardson when _she_   died, but this was different too, this was more all-inclusive... Jean sensed Death itself, the concept, the reality, the final goal of all life, all joys and sorrows and striving, all tears and laughter and love and birth and babies and education and work and play, all wisdom and folly, all of it, collapsing into the dark hole that was death, the great equalizer into which everything else faded and withered. She felt a sense of overpowering sorrow, one which nothing could assuage. All the light, all the joy, all of it so precious because it was so fleeting--all nothing, just the tiniest flicker of utter meaninglessness between two eternities of blackness. It was so absolute, and so inescapable, that she felt despair cover her like a shroud.

And then--in that final millisecond before she woke completely--the black vision faded. A new thought replaced it, an image that seemed small, infinitely small, but even as she saw it in her mind it grew and filled her field of mental vision, filled the entire Universe. A bird...was that what it was? Yes--now unmistakeable. A giant bird that spread its "wings" across all existence. A terrible, cruel image, an image that contained evil and hatred of all that lived. And yet, that was not all it contained either. There was also compassion and love and a sense, spreading from it, that death was the ultimate absurdity, that it was nothing, almost an irrelevancy in the greater scheme of things. The despairing vision she had just a moment earlier was wiped away as if it had never been, and she _knew_   that death could not triumph in the end. The two aspects of the bird--the great evil, and the overwhelming goodness--didn't seem to contradict each other, somehow. It all seemed natural... And, in the very last instant before she awoke completely, she had a last realization-- _she,_ Jean Grey, was the reason they didn't contradict. Somehow, she herself was the balancing principle, she brought everything into focus, into perspective.

 _Jean._ The Professor's mental voice brought her up out of her bed.

_Yes, sir._

_I fear you've overslept a bit. We_ _do_ _have a busy day ahead of us._

_I'm sorry, sir!_   She jumped out of bed. _I'll be right down, sir._

 _Very good._ And she flushed slightly. Oversleeping! On this day, of all days! Hank and Warren, injured in the recent battle with the Sentinels, were coming home from the hospital today. She and Scott would be leaving soon to pick them up. Bobby had been more seriously injured, and needed to stay in the hospital longer--at least another week. But he'd be fine, in time.

Jean sighed. _Scott._ If only she could have at least an inkling that he felt about her as she did for him. But Scott was the perfect leader, and never let his feelings show. Jean was sure that he _did_ have feelings for her. Or at least, she hoped so. With all her heart. At times, she knew he returned her love. Other times--

She bit her tongue. If only she could be _sure!_   And if only she could be sure that none of the others suspected. The humiliation would be more than she could bear, if she thought they were laughing about her, her feelings, behind her back. Well, she couldn't worry about _that._ Especially not today. No, she had to get ready...

Ten minutes later she was out of the bathroom and dressed, and just as she was about to go downstairs there was a scratching at the door. And a sound: _brroopt?_   Jean opened the door, and to her astonishment saw a gray kitten with a rag toy in its mouth. The kitten entered the room, dropped the toy at the foot of her bed, jumped up onto the bed and--as Jean watched with amazement--knit a nest for itself and with a purr that wouldn't have been out of place at JFK Airport, curled into a ball and started dozing.

"Where did _you_   come from, little girl?" Jean asked, for she realized at once that the kitten was female. She rubbed the newcomer as she dozed, and the purr resumed, stronger than ever. Jean picked up the toy--just an old rag-toy, with kitty saliva all over it. Nothing special. Why, then, did Jean feel that this toy _meant_   something?

 _Jean?_ the Professor mentally inquired, and Jean laughed to herself.

_Sir--a kitten just appeared at my door! She's asleep on my bed right now!_

The Professor paused. _A kitten? That's odd, Jean. How did it get here, I wonder?_

 _I haven't the foggiest idea, sir._ Jean looked closely at the kitten. _But she's a character, sir. I know that already. She makes me laugh. I'm going to call her 'Lucy', like Lucille Ball. That seems to be--right--somehow._

A longer pause. _I see... You wish to keep this kitten then, Jean? Adopt it?_

_I think so, sir. If that's OK with you. I think I'm supposed to._

She heard the Professor laugh in his mind. _Very well, Jean. We shall adopt Lucy. Perhaps she'll bring us luck._

_Thank you, sir. I think she will. I'll be right there._

And she rubbed Lucy once more, and Lucy opened one eye and gave a yell that might have come from a lion cub. Jean smiled, and gently kissed Lucy's nose, and headed downstairs to accompany Scott to the hospital. Her dreams were gone from her mind, and even if they were not she would have paid them no heed. There was work to do. Reality was better than dreams.

* * *

THE END--and God bless all of you who've read the whole story...I hope you've enjoyed the journey. Any comments would be welcome.


End file.
